It Didn't Start With Watergate

THE INCENDIARY BESTSELLER!
“LASKYS BLOCKBUSTER. . .IS BOTH A
LITERARY AND A POLITICAL EVENT!”
—William Safire, author of Full Disclosure

T

START

WITH

INATHtGATE

VICTOR LASKY

author of J.F.K.: THE MAN AND THE MYTH

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

“The first carefully researched blast of criti-
cism at the fusion of hypocrisy and hysteria
that gripped this nation in 1973 and 1974 . . .
Mr. Lasky may have intended to write a
rock-’em, sock-’em everybody-did-it defense
of Mr. Nixon, but the import of his book is
more profound. . . . Lasky’s blockbuster . . .
is not like any book on the Watergate shelf.”

— William Safire,
author of Full Disclosure

“NO DEFENSE OF THE IDIOCIES OR
MISDEEDS OF WATERGATE, OR EVEN
NIXON HIMSELF . . . LASKY’S BOOK IS
ABOUT THE PRIMARY EXPORT OF
THIS CAPITAL CITY— HYPOCRISY . . .
EMINENTLY READABLE.”

— New York Daily News

“AN IMPORTANT, INFORMATIVE AND
EYE-OPENING BOOK.”

— Nashville Banner

IT

DIDN’T
START WITH
WATERGATE

VICTOR LASKY

A DELL BOOK

Published by

DELL PUBLISHING CO., INC.

1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza
New York, N.Y. 10017

Copyright © 1977 by Victor Lasky

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
or by any means without the prior written permission of
The Dial Press, New York, N.Y. 10017,
excepting brief quotes used in connection with reviews
written specifically for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.

Dell ® TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

ISBN: 0-440-14400-0

Reprinted by arrangement with
The Dial Press

/

Printed in the United States of America
First Dell printing — January 1978

TO MY WIFE

V

IT

DIDN’T
■START WITH
WATERGATE

ONE

Some day when the passions aroused by Watergate begin
to subside — as perhaps they have already begun to do —
objective historians may well begin to ask themselves just
what all the furor was about.

And this has become a matter of major concern for those
who have never made any bones about their hatred of
Richard M. Nixon. Thus former Representative Jerome R.
Waldie, the California Democrat who had loudly partici-
pated in the impeachment proceedings, thought that Presi-
dent Ford’s pardon of the former President was “a mis-
take in terms of timing because it denied history an element
of truth” about what crimes actually were committed.

“I don’t think there are many doubts now,” said Waldie,
“but I’m worried about what historians will say fifty or
one hundred years from now. I’m worried that they will
not be as aware as we are of his complicity . . .”

But complicity in what? Precisely what is Nixon accused
of doing, if he actually did it, that his predecessors didn’t
do many times over? The break-in and wiretapping at the
Watergate? Just how different was that from the bugging
of Barry Goldwater’s apartment during the 1964 presi-
dential campaign?

Granted that two wrongs don’t make a right; but in law
and politics, two wrongs can make a respectable precedent.
And despite its well-publicized excesses, Watergate had
numerous though less-publicized precedents in previous
administrations. Taping of phones under Nixon? Why,
that was a way of life under John F. Kennedy. The use of
the Internal Revenue Service to harass political opponents?
Why, one of the more fascinating things to come to light in
Watergate’s wake was the revelation that the Kennedy
regime had subjected Nixon to annoying tax audits.

In many ways Watergate can be considered a media

10

VICTOR LASKY

event. For without its demonstrated hostility to Nixon par-
ticularly, and right-of-center Republicans generally, Water-
gate would not have been blown up into hysterical propor-
tions. The fact is that Democratic scandals of comparable,
if not greater, significance were permitted to glide by with-
out any of the overwhelming and unrelenting attention later
paid Watergate by a press which, in its lust for machismo ,
sought to disembowl a hated President. At the same time
every effort was made to redress the American political
balance leftward, after its rightist drift. The aim of these
partisans in nonpartisan clothing was retroactively to “win”
the 1972 election. And, for the most part, they succeeded.

The eagerness of much of the media to commit regicide
was freely conceded by Waldie. He noted that the press
“disliked Nixon intensely,” and he doubted whether the
President would have been forced out of office “if the
press had not desired it.”

In contrast, according to Waldie, the press coverage of
Nelson Rockefeller’s nomination as Vice President was
“abominable.” Contending that Rocky’s alleged involve-
ment in “criminal acts” while serving as governor was
treated “gently” by the media, Waldie insisted that the
leading newspapers in the nation — The New York Times ,
the Los Angeles Times , the Washington Post , among
others — wanted him confirmed, hence the laying off.

Whatever the merits of Waldie’s argument, Nixon was
banished into self-imposed exile, a broken man, while
Rockefeller was confirmed as Vice President, a heartbeat
away from the presidency itself. Whether Rockefeller, as
governor of the Empire State, committed “crimes” is most
arguable. But Waldie believes he did, as he believes Nixon
did.

Less arguable is the thesis that never before in the his-
tory of the Republic has any man, in high office or out,
been so thoroughly investigated as was Nixon. He was
stripped and humiliated in public; his innermost thoughts as
recorded on tapes were transcribed for a nation of voyeurs;
and his income and expenditures down to the last penny
were spread before every nit-picking tax lawyer. Even his
psyche was probed without letup and amateur analysts
questioned his sanity.

Finally, after resisting a merciless campaign of hatred
and ridicule the likes of which had never before been

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 11

leveled against any previous President, Nixon buckled. Un-
able to lead the nation at a time of burgeoning crises, some
of which were the direct result of his weakened presi-
dency, he resigned, the first Chief Executive in the nation’s
history to do so. The predominantly liberal media had
helped bring down a President. The fourth estate had never
before felt so powerful.

But was all this necessarily good for the nation?

Former Senator J. William Fulbright, for one, didn’t
think so. The Arkansas Democrat, who until his retire-
ment from the Senate in 1974 headed the Foreign Rela-
tions Committee, considers the role of the press in Water-
gate disturbing.

In fact, as a writer for The New York Times Magazine
put it, Fulbright “sounds almost like Julie Nixon Eisen-
hower as he criticizes the press.” The writer, Daniel Yergin,
quoted the former senator as having said:

The Watergate was ballooned up into an enormous
issue. People like those two reporters who uncov-
ered it for the Washington Post and the Post itself —
they were sort of like Christopher Columbus — they
had discovered a whole new world. People made repu-
tations overnight discovering some new scandal.
They’re still doing it, they just love it. The papers are
devoted almost altogether to stories of this kind. . . .
No one really approved of wiretapping, going back
fifty years, but we all knew it was going on, and all
accepted it — and a lot of other practices. In their
minds people don’t apprpve of covert CIA activities,
and yet the majority of people say we’ve got to do it
because the others are doing it.”*

Fulbright, incidentally, would have settled for a Senate
censure of Nixon, believing that act alone would have
been enough to discipline what he described as an “ar-
rogant” administration. But with the pressures being ex-
erted without letup by a rampaging media, that was not to
be. Instead we witnessed not only the political assassina-
tion of a President but the near-destruction of the prestige

♦Daniel Yergin, “Fulbright’s Last Frustration,” The New York
Times Magazine , Nov. 24, 1974.

12

VICTOR LASKY

of the presidency itself — with great damage to the nation
both at home and abroad. The consequences will be felt for
generations to come.

That Watergate has been blown up out of all propor-
tion to the realities — becoming a veritable “teapot in a
tempest,” to reverse the phrase — is the guiding thesis of
the chapters that follow. As is the fact that Adam and
Eve did not tryst at the Watergate. Original and subse-
quent sin were around a long time before Nixon was sworn
into office. And political transgressions did not cease with
the banishment of Nixon to San Clemente. Now we know
that while Jimmy Carter was jetting around during the
1976 primaries preaching goodness, honesty, compassion,
and all the virtues of “born-again” Christianity, his minions
were resorting to that most ancient of political evils — buy-
ing votes. And with federal funds yet. Jimmy’s boys got
caught, but most of the media couldn’t have cared less. The
first scandal of the Carter campaign was quickly and con-
veniently forgotten after the Democratic standardbearer
conceded publicly that it was all so embarrassing.

“Watergate,” of course, has become a catch-all for a
variety -of political sins, real and imagined. And all of it
flowed from the break-in at the headquarters of the Dem-
ocratic National Committee which was largely the result
of poor judgment and amateurish stupidity on the part of
the participants. Rarely has there been a more inane caper.
Everything went wrong — as if by design. The walkie-
talkies malfunctioned; the lock-picker had difficulty pick-
ing locks; and the burglars bugged the wrong phones,
cut themselves on broken glass, and practically invited dis-
covery. When apprehended, they were found to possess
incriminating address books as well as large sums of cur-
rency easily traceable to the Nixon reelection effort. It
was almost as if they had been deliberately dropping clues.

The extraordinary thing about the inane caper was that
leading Democrats and at least one prominent journalist
knew well in advance that something of the sort was in
the works. As for the Democrats, they took no extra pre-
cautions to guard against the break-in. In fact they chortled
with glee when the event finally took place. Of course,
publicly, they viewed it with excessive alarm.

And while the break-in and wiretapping cannot be con-
doned, even if their fruits were almost nil, the so-called

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 13

cover up and obstruction of justice can easily be explained
in terms of human and natural reactions. They were not
the “crimes of the century” as trumpeted by a gleeful
media. For, in the final analysis, the “Great Conspiracy”
consisted of a series of hastily contrived, last-minute ac-
tions aimed at figuring a way out of a mess whose origins
to this day remain obscure.

All of which is not to say that Nixon did not help con-
tribute to his own destruction. He blundered in the han-
dling of the problems created by the break-in. He now con-
cedes they were “errors of judgment.” At first he did not
take the episode seriously. After all, political skulduggery,
including wiretapping, had been practiced on him during
his many campaigns. As he viewed it, it was all part of
the game. What he had not counted on was the ferocity
of an unforgiving media.

In the final analysis, therefore, Richard Nixon was less
the sinner than he was sinned against. Or as Chancellor W.
Allen Wallis of the University of Rochester put it, “The
reaction by journalists and politicians to the Watergate
break-in has been morally even more corrupt than the
Watergate activities themselves.”

There is probably no greater evidence of that corruption
than the deliberate ignoring by much of the media and such
political luminaries as Senator Sam Ervin of the numerous
political excesses — some of which make Watergate look
like penny-ante stuff — committed by Nixon’s predecessors.
But unlike Nixon, none of his predecessors in the Oval
Office ever faced the remotest possibility of impeachment.
Most of them were secure in the knowledge that ma-
jorities of their own party controlled the Congress; and
they all presided during periods when the nation’s capital
was not in the mood to eviscerate itself — as was the case
during the Nixon years. Moreover none of them was naive
enough to install taping systems which constantly recorded
the most confidential of conversations. More importantly,
none ever squandered his political power so ineptly. If
Richard Nixon was guilty of anything at all, it was his
inability to hold on to the bverwhelming mandate given
him by the American people in 1972.

The hypocrisy so evident in much of the bewailing of
Watergate was noted by none other than Alexander
Solzhenitsyn. Even before he left the Soviet Union, the

14 T VICTOR LASKY

Nobel Prize-winning author referred to the “dense hy-
pocrisy characteristic of today’s American political life,”
and, most notably, “of the Senate leaders with their dis-
torted view of the discordant Watergate affair.

“Without in any way defending Nixon or the Republican
party, how can one not be amazed at the hypocritical,
clamorous rage displayed by the Democrats? Has Ameri-
can politics not been full of mutual deceit and cases of
misconduct during previous election campaigns, except,
perhaps, that they were not on such a high level of
electronic technology and remained happily undiscovered?”

Never were truer words written.

So, did the Good Guys really win? Were there actually
any Good Guys in all of this? Did Watergate produce a
new race of heroes? The record, alas, as revealed in the
following pages, shows few heroes but many hypocrites.

TWO

Being human, all Presidents have had their character flaws,
Richard Nixon most definitely not excepted. But in the
emotions engendered during the Watergate period, previous
presidents were eulogized to an incredible degree in order
to point out Nixon’s deficiencies. This trend was carried to
a ludicrous extreme when The New Yorker asked prom-
inent persons “to tell us their reactions” to the famous (or
infamous) edited transcripts of the tape recordings made
by Nixon as President.

“I’ve read about half the transcripts, and the contrast
with the Johnson White House is enormous,” intoned Jo-
seph A. Califano, Jr., who had been special assistant to
President Johnson. “I think it’s an utterly amoral discus-,
sion. ... It really is a group of amoral people saving
their own skins. . . . It’s not really comparable to any-
thing that happened to Johnson.”

“What struck me first was the squalor of the Nixon
White House,” commented Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., the in-
house and still functioning apologist for the Kennedy ad-
ministration. “Nixon was always proud of his historic firsts,
and this beats all his predecessors in sleaziness.”

Apparently Schlesinger and Califano didn’t have the
faintest idea of what really went on behind the scenes in
the administrations they so loyally and unquestioningly
served. Schlesinger, for example, couldn’t possibly have
known about the numerous party girls sharing the Presi-
dent’s bed. There were of course other, “nicer” young ladies
who dallied in the delights of Camelot while Jackie was
away — and she was away frequently. And a few aides
close to the dashing young President were aware of how
JFK would while away those precious moments between
crises. But not apparently Schlesinger, who in none of his
adulatory writings ever portrayed JFK for what he was —

16

VICTOR LASKY

an activist President beyond Warren G. Harding’s wildest
hopes and dreams.

In any case Schlesinger and Califano have been unduly
modest about the legacies both John Fitzgerald Kennedy
and Lyndon Baines Johnson bequeathed to Richard Mil-
hous Nixon. The fact remains that the whole truth was
not fully served by their predictably pompous reactions to
the Nixon tapes.

For there was little that was done during the Nixon
administration of an offending nature that had not been
done by preceding administrations, sometimes in spades. As
Vermont Royster observed, “The harsh fact is that almost
every single action of the Watergate perpetrators — wire-
tapping, spying on political enemies, covering up political
malfeasance — has its antecedent example somewhere in re-
cent history.” The editor-emeritus of the Wall Street Jour-
nal also noted that “from Roosevelt to Nixon, Presidents
at times concealed what they were doing and sometimes
even lied to the country.” And while not excusing Nixon,
there can be little doubt that he was subjected to a scrutiny
that no other President was ever subjected to or, most
likely, ever will be again.

Apparently referring to his good friend John Kennedy,
Joseph Alsop once wrote, “I myself have seen a felony be-
ing cheerfully compounded by a President of the United
States, whose loss was one of the greatest losses of my life.
It was vastly to his own advantage but equally to the ad-
vantage of this country. I laughed and said nothing.”

Let’s read that again. A felony — that is, a criminal act —
was “compounded” by a President. That does not neces-
sarily mean that the President committed the original
crime. But it could mean that, for a consideration (perhaps
to protect his administration) he agreed not to prosecute
or punish a wrongdoer — in other words, a cover-up of
some presumably evil deed. Which, of course, was so
funny that Alsop laughed and said nothing. What wasn t
funny is the fact that Joe could have opened himself up to
prosecution on a charge of obstructing justice in failing to
report such criminal behavior. Fortunately for him, the
statute of limitations undoubtedly applies in his case.

Whatever else can be said of Nixon, there was one thing
he did not do in his five and a half years in office. As far

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 17

as the record shows, he did not discuss the pros and cons
of murdering foreign leaders who had aroused his ire. This
is precisely what Kennedy did in a conversation with
George Smathers, then a senator from Florida.

That conversation was recounted by Smathers in an oral
history interview recorded on March 31, 1964, for the
Kennedy Library.* The transcript reads:

We had further conversation of assassination of Fidel
Castro, what would be the reaction, how would the
people react, would the people be gratified. I’m sure
he [Kennedy] had his own ideas about it, but he was
picking my brain. ... As I recollect, he was just
throwing out a great barrage of questions — he was
certain it could be accomplished. . . . But the ques-
tion was whether or not it would accomplish that
which he wanted it to, whether or not the reaction
throughout South America would be good or bad. And
I talked with him about it and, frankly, at this par-
ticular time I felt, and I later on learned that he did,
that I wasn’t so much for the idea of assassination,
particularly when it could be pinned on the United
States.

Of course this and other revelations concerning the in-
volvement of the Kennedy brothers — Jack and Bobby —
in assassination discussions sent their defenders up the
wall. Truly furious was Frank Mankiewicz, who publicly
assailed Nelson Rockefeller as a “liar” for daring to sug-
gest that such discussions occurred in the Kennedy White
House. How Mankiewicz could have any direct knowledge
of what transpired during the Kennedy years is difficult
to comprehend simply because he was not in Camelot’s
inner circle. He did not become Robert Kennedy’s press
aide until several years after JFK’s untimely death.

But that did not prevent Mankiewicz from going after
William Satire who, in his column in The New York Times
made the point that, as President, Nixon never ordered the

♦As reported in Richard J. Walton, Cold War and Counterrevolution :
The Foreign Policy of John F. Kennedy (New York: Viking, 1972)
pp. 47-48.

18

VICTOR LASKY

murder of a fellow chief of state. Satire’s implication was
that Kennedy may well have done so. And that led Man-
kiewicz to write a lengthy rebuttal for the Washington
Post, in which he contended that “Satire’s column is rep-
resentative of a well-orchestrated campaign on the part of
die-hard believers in Nixon’s innocence to make us forget
the hard-earned lessons of Watergate by encouraging us to
believe that all recent Presidents shared Nixon’s genuinely
and uniquely low moral standards.”

It was, of course, an intemperate remark. True, Satire
had been a speechwriter for Nixon; but he was far from
being a “die-hard” believer in “Nixon’s innocence.” More-
over the reference to a “well-orchestrated campaign” was
strictly a figment of an overworked imagination. That
Mankiewicz was carrying a heavy work load was evi-
denced by the fact that in a short period of time he had
written several books portraying Nixon as the arch villain
of all time; had traveled to Cuba, where he interviewed
Castro at length for a friendly film documentary; and had
co-authored another book based on his Cuban experiences
in which Fidel most definitely is not portrayed as villain-
ous. At the same time he appointed himself the chief de-
fender of the Kennedy name and honor, even though he
conceded he did not know all the facts.

Like Mankiewicz, Schlesinger was also fit to be tied by
the assassination revelations. But Artie was more temperate
in his defense of the Kennedys. He didn’t go around call-
ing people “liars” for saying there’s evidence linking anti-
Castro plotting to the Kennedys. Obviously he was not too
certain as to just what the facts were. In an article in the
Wall Street Journal Schlesinger noted that just prior to
the Bay of Pigs he had sat in on many “top secret White
House meetings” dealing with that upcoming fiasco, but
that not once had the subject of bumping off Castro ever
come up. This was indeed a remarkable confession on the
part of the author of the “definitive” book on the Kennedy
years, a Pulitzer Prize winner yet. For it demonstrated that
Schlesinger never really knew what went on in the top
echelons of the White House. One reason for that, as
Dean Rusk once suggested in another context, was that
everyone knew — from Kennedy down — that Artie was a
blabbermouth. And the word went out from the Oval
Office not to tell Schlesinger anything of consequence lest

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 19

such information should become public knowledge among
the Georgetown set that very night.

The die-hard loyalty of such Kennedy mythmakers was
truly something to behold. According to the likes of
Mankiewicz and Schlesinger, the Kennedys rarely, if ever,
did anything wrong. Even when it was firmly established,
for example, that Robert Kennedy directed the FBI to
place a wiretap on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Mankie-
wicz came up with an explanation fully exonerating his
former employer. Mankiewicz did not deny the tap. He
conceded that Kennedy did approve “one wiretap on the
office of Martin Luther King,” but only one. Which is
somewhat like saying that the young lady was only a little
bit pregnant.* But, wrote Mankiewicz, “the purpose was to
attempt to prove or disprove a charge — by FBI Director J.
Edgar Hoover — that a secret Communist was working for
King. The results were negative. . . .”

The implication was that Robert Kennedy was the in-
nocent dupe of the malevolent Hoover; and that as Attorney
General he rarely, if ever, authorized the use of wiretaps.

A more reliable account as to why the King inquiry was
launched has been provided by one of JFK’s best friends,
Charles Bartlett. In his column for the Washington Star
Bartlett recently disclosed that the inquiry was authorized
“in a spirit of anxiety” over Dr. King’s associations. “The
Kennedy brothers were initially puzzled over King’s inten-
tions. He appeared to have links that reached into both
-the Rockefeller and Communist camps. Uncertain whether
he was conspiring to overthrow the country or the Ken-
nedy Administration, they readily assented to Hoover’s
plans for close scrutiny.”

The Kennedys’ penchant for wiretapping has lately been
documented by more official bodies. The Rockefeller Com-
mission on CIA Activities Within the United States, for
example, reported that a newsman had been wiretapped
by the CIA in 1962 — with no authority in law — “appar-
ently with the knowledge and consent of Attorney General
Kennedy.” The Kennedy mythmakers said nothing about
the revelation. And these were the same people who called

♦What Mankiewicz did not say (perhaps he did not know) was
that that “one wiretap” remained in place for more than eighteen
months, until removed in April 1965.

20

VICTOR LASKY

for or helped fashion an article of impeachment when it
was revealed that Nixon had approved the wiretapping of
newsmen.

And talk about sleaziness! In conversations with Ben-
jamin C. Bradlee, President Kennedy would sound out his
journalist-friend on the possibility of obtaining and pub-
lishing information damaging to JFK’s political adver-
saries — Bradlee who as executive editor of the Washington
Post , which claims to have had much to do with saving
the Constitution from Richard Nixon’s depredations, ap-
parently was not overly concerned about such matters
when they involved his presidential buddy.*

For, as Bradlee discloses with little disapproval, wire-
tapping, prying into tax returns, elections fraud, misuse of
federal agencies — all of these, he admits in effect, were
practiced and/or discussed in his presence by President
Kennedy. Occasionally Kennedy had FBI Director Hoover
over for lunch, and a little dirt for dessert. “Boy, the dirt
he has on those Senators,” the President once said, shak-
ing his head. And what apparently amused Kennedy more
than anything else were Hoover’s revelations about which
whores his former Senate colleagues were then patroniz-
ing. On one occasion the director showed JFK a photo-
graph of a German girl who had been involved with
Bobby Baker — “a really beautiful woman,” sighed the
President.**

There was another reason for the President’s buttering
up of Hoover. As he undoubtedly suspected, the director
had also been keeping a file on him going back to his days
as a young World War II naval intelligence officer, at which
time he had been carrying on with a comely foreigner

♦Bradlee’s diary recollections of his talks with JFK are contained
in his extremely revealing book, Conversations with Kennedy (New
York: W. W. Norton, 1975). The “real” Kennedy emerges from the
pages of this instant bestseller. Commenting on excerpts published
in advance in Playboy, columnist Satire wrote in The New York
Times: “Nowhere in these early selections from the Kenendy tran-
scripts is there the idealistic uplift and intellectual stimulus that we
have been led to associate with the late President.”

•♦Early in 1975 the Washington Post precipitated a scandal by
charging that the FBI keeps files on the private lives of elected
officials. The executive editor had been aware of that for more than
a decade.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 21

suspected of having pro-Nazi sympathies. Which apparent-
ly was one of the reasons, if not the main one, why JFK
on his election resisted strong liberal pressure to oust the
director. Not even a President could know what was in
a file kept under lock and key in Hoover’s private office.

Thanks to Bradlee, too, we have now learned that Ken-
nedy’s private conversation was most uninhibited. His
scatalogical references made Nixon’s sounds like a Boy
Scout’s. Fortunately (or unfortunately) for history,
“Benjy” — as the President liked to call his buddy — was
there to record the just-between-us-boys observations of a
Chief Executive who, thanks to his speechwriters (and they
were among the best), has gone down in history as an
elegant, witty phrasemaker.

Now, it turns out, there was a different Kennedy hidden
from public view — one whose “excesses of language,” as
Bradlee concedes, were “generally protected” by the press.
In other words the readers of Newsweek , of which Brad-
lee was then Washington bureau chief, were never made
privy to the kind of language JFK generally used in
normal, private conversation. Years later, though, News-
week — like that other weekly publication — relished pub-
lishing Nixon’s expletives, even those he sought to delete.

In this connection it is amusing to recall the numerous
articles published by the Washington Post following the
release of the Nixon transcripts. Various aides of former
presidents were asked to contrast the moral tone in the
Oval Office, when they sat near the throne, with that re-
vealed by the tape-recorded, off-the-cuff behavior of Nixon.
Almost without exception the aides to Roosevelt, Truman,
Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson (yes, Johnson!) found
Nixon lacking; and none more so than Pierre Salinger.
JFK’s press secretary could hardly believe Nixon’s lan-
guage, nor the unseemly subjects he discussed. One could
almost visualize Pierre’s well-padded cheeks crimsoning in
horror as he valiantly read on.

Salinger was also perturbed by the marked informality
in the way subordinates spoke to Nixon. In Kennedy’s day,
wrote Salinger, he was always addressed as “sir” or “Mr.
President.” Now, suppose circumstances were reversed,
with the transcripts revealing that Nixon’s aides had called
him “sir” and “Mr. President” in every sentence they ut-

22

VICTOR LASKY

tered; the very same critics undoubtedly would have con-
demned the imperial manner of the Nixon White House,
while applauding Kennedy’s informality with his staff.

There were a few newsmen, however, who failed to be
smitten by JFK’s charms. One of them, the veteran Richard
Wilson of the Cowles publications, was described by the
young President as “the biggest S.O.B.” in the press corps.
Once JFK referred to Wilson in naval code as a “Charlie-
Uncle-Nan-Tare.” A puzzled Jackie demanded to know
what exactly was “a Charlie-Uncle-Nan-Tare, for heaven’s
sake,” but Kennedy didn’t tell her.

Unlike Nixon, Kennedy generally relaxed with mem-
bers of the fourth estate. A more uptight Nixon viewed the
press corps as consisting mainly of liberal ideologues out
to get him. And he wasn’t too far wrong. But Kennedy,
a frustrated sometime journalist himself, felt like one of
the boys. And he frequently talked like one. Thus while
seeking the presidential nomination in early 1960, he con-
fided to a few Newsweek staffers how he intended to run
in the forthcoming primaries: “Well, I’m going to fucking
well take Ohio, for openers.”*

That line did not appear in print in 1960. Nor did many
other eye-opening remarks made by Kennedy. One such
was transmitted to Time ' s home office by a correspondent
traveling with the pre-presidential Kennedy. Describing a
weekend in Boston on a sultry summer day, the senator was
quoted as having said, “It was so hot that even the niggers
went to the beach.” Of course Time ignored the remark
in its published coverage. Yet the people’s right to know
anything and everything won out some years later, when
Spiro Agnew made what he thought to be a jocular refer-
ence to a “fat Jap” traveling in the press corps.

Which was one of the reasons Nixon was assailed for
having named him as his Vice President. But now we learn
that Kennedy often referred to the man he selected as his
Vice President as a “riverboat gambler.” And when the
scandals involving Bobby Baker (and indirectly LBJ)
erupted, Kennedy was as unperturbed as was Nixon when
Watergate first came to his attention. “Kennedy,” writes

♦This is the way the JFK statement appeared in the Playboy version
of the Bradlee book. When the book was published, the word “fuck-
ing” became “Goddamn.” Rather than deleting, the editors sub-
stituted.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 23

Bradlee, “was unwilling to knock Baker, saying, ‘I thought
of him primarily as a rogue, not a crook. He was always
telling me he knew where he could get me the cutest little
girls, but he never did.’ ”

The fascinating thing about the Bradlee books is that the
author professes to find nothing but charm in Jack despite
repeated instances of vindictiveness and crudity. As when
Kennedy urged Bradlee to get Newsweek to really give
the business to Arthur Krock, the Pulitzer Prize-winning
columnist of The New York Times , a man then in his
late seventies who had written the introduction to Ken-
nedy’s college thesis, later published as the book Why
England Slept . Annoyed by Krock’s well-reasoned criticism
of his presidency, Kennedy suggested that Bradlee “bust
it off in old Arthur. He can’t take it, and when you go
after him he folds.” But Newsweek treated Krock with
somewhat more restraint, and Kennedy, annoyed, felt the
magazine had not “tucked it to Arty” enough.

When Bradlee mentioned that Newsweek was planning
to do a story on then Governor Rockefeller, the President
suggested, “You ought to cut Rocky’s ass open a little this
week.” Years later a young man named Donald Segretti
was cutting up adversaries for the Nixon reelection effort.
Now we learn that JFK sought to make Newsweek his
Segretti.

Kennedy asked whether Newsweek intended to look into
Rockefeller’s war record. He was particularly anxious to
find out where the governor had been while Kennedy
was commanding that famous PT boat in Japanese-infested
Pacific waters — as if he didn’t know. “Where was old Nels
when you and I were dodging bullets in the Solomon
Islands?” he wondered out loud. “How old was he? He
must have been 31 or 32. Why don’t you look into that?”*

“It is interesting,” comments Bradlee, “how often Ken-
nedy referred to the war records of political opponents.”
In this connection the President often mentioned Hubert
Humphrey and Edward J. McCormack, Jr., the then
Speaker’s nephew, who had the temerity to contest baby
brother Teddy in the 1962 Democratic primary for the

♦Rockefeller, born July 8, 1898, was thirty-three years old when the
Japanese attacked at Pearl Harbor. In Who's Who in America he is
listed as Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs during the war
years 1940-44, and as Assistant Secretary of State in 1945-46.

24

VICTOR LASKY

Senate seat from Massachusetts. “When are you going to
send one of your ace reporters to look into Eddie’s rec-
ord?” Kennedy asked Bradlee. Then Kennedy launched
into an analysis of what he said was that record; namely,
that McCormack had resigned his navy commission the
very day he graduated from the Naval Academy, claiming
a medical disability. “Half of it was nerves and half of it
was a bad back, and he’s been drawing a sixty percent dis-
ability ever since up until six months ago.” The President
then suggested that Bradlee talk to his aide David Powers,
who had even more information.

As far as is known, Bradlee never used the Kennedy in-
formation on McCormack. Had he done so, he undoubted-
ly would have been challenged as to its accuracy. For the
record shows that McCormack did not resign his com-
mission when he graduated from Annapolis in 1946. In-
stead he served for three years in the navy, much of that
time as a gunnery officer on a destroyer. In 1949 he severe-
ly hurt his back when he fell off a turret. He was then
discharged from active duty.

The question still remains how Kennedy was aware
that McCormack had been drawing disability allowances
for his injury. One can only surmise how the President
obtained this supposedly confidential information from the
files of the Veterans Administration, information to which
he, even as President, was not entitled by law.

But the best-kept secret of the Kennedy administration
is only hinted at in the Bradlee book. And that was the
President’s predilection for pretty girls. Kennedy’s ex-
ploits would have put Warren Harding to shame. How
he could find time for ail those extracurricular activities,
even during crises, has to be one of the wonders of Came-
lot. Perhaps his hyperactivity was stimulated by the shots
of “speed” he frequently was given by the notorious Dr.
Max Jacobson of New York. At any rate, according to
Time , JFK in 1962 confided to British Prime Minister
Harold Macmillan and Foreign Minister R. A. Butler that
“if he went too long without a woman, he suffered head-
aches.”

Even more significant was the way Kennedy managed
to carry on without a single breath of scandal reaching the
public prints. It wasn’t because the boys with the ball-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 25

point pens weren’t aware of what was going on. Many
of them were.

The media that wept copious tears about how Nixon
degraded his office could never work up any moral indigna-
tion about the “moral stain” brought to the White House
by one of its heroes. This was what The New Republic
many years later meant, in another context, when it noted
with sorrow that relations between JFK and the press had
indeed been too “chummy.”

President Kennedy’s public image clashed mightily with
his private life. The public image, presented through an
all-too-willing media, was that of the good husband, the
kind family man, and the perfect father. Camelot was never
sullied by stories of what really was going on behind the
scenes, the sybaritic, hedonistic life led by a President who
felt he could do anything and get away with it.

As columnist Earl Wilson put it in his book Show
Business Laid Bare,* JFK would probably have approved
of the contention that he was “the sexiest, swingingest
President of the century, and not have thought it disre-
spectful.” Wilson estimates that the President’s “score card,
if he kept one, would probably have run into dozens, even
possibly hundreds.” And not just celebrated actresses or
socialites either, reports Wilson. His conquests included
“stewardesses, secretaries, models and those strange crea-
tures who like to offer their bodies to Big Names.”

The Wilson book is the best source of information on
this subject. My own sources during the Kennedy era were
Secret Service agents assigned to guard the President. On
an off-the-record basis they expressed concern about “Lanc-
er’s” (JFK’s code name) dalliances with women he hardly
knew. It wasn’t so much that they were prudish. What con-
cerned them were the security problems involved. One
agent even wondered aloud whether the Russians might not
be tempted to “plant a broad” in the President’s bedroom.
But there was little the agents could do about it.

It was the FBI, not the Secret Service, that determined
the President was “making out” with a young woman who,
between appointments in the White House bedroom, was
also keeping company with Mafia hoods Sam (“Momo”)

♦(New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1974).

26

VICTOR LASKY

Giancana and John Roselli, both of whom — since all the
recent unwelcome publicity also involving their CIA con-
nections — have been dispatched gangland-style to meet
their maker. And it was Edgar Hoover himself who went
to the White House to warn the President in a private
session that a continuance of his secret relations with
Judith Campbell (more currently Mrs. Exner) could only
lead to political disaster. It had been a romance that
flourished for several years after Senator Kennedy first
spotted the comely Judith at a party in Las Vegas. As Mrs.
Exner now remembers the President, he was “a warm, ex-
traordinarily energetic and inquisitive man,” who “was fas-
cinated by Hollywood gossip and (by) who was sleeping
with whom among the stars.” Apparently the leader of the
Free World never let Judith in on any state secrets such
as the plots to waste Castro which her other boyfriends
were supposed to be carrying out for the CIA.

But because of Hoover’s warning JFK’s relationship with
Judith was terminated. And not too soon, either. For as
Edwin A. Roberts, Jr., lately put it in the National Ob-
server: “If his friendship with Judith Campbell Exner, who
was also a friend of two Mafia leaders, hired by the CIA
to kill Castro, had become public knowledge, it is safe to
say that Kennedy’s political career would have been over.
He certainly would not have been renominated and per-
haps he would have been forced to resign.” Thus Judith
Exner has become another romantic figure, to be remem-
bered along with Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., Ted Sorensen,
Pierre Salinger, and so many other fondly recalled names
from the fabulous epoch of Camelot.

Another more tragic figure involved romantically with
JFK was Mary Pinchot Meyer, a Washington artist and
socialite. A year after Kennedy’s assassination Mrs. Meyer
was shot to death while walking along the old canal tow-
path in Georgetown. A twenty-five-year-old District man
was arrested and tried for the death, but was acquitted.

Mrs. Meyer had once been married to a prominent CIA
official, Cord Meyer, Jr. Before their divorce in 1956 the
Meyers had lived in McLean, Virginia, where Ethel and
Robert Kennedy were next-door neighbors. Following the
divorce, Mary, then thirty-six, moved to a Georgetown
townhouse around the corner from her sister, Mrs. Ben-
jamin Bradlee (yes, Benjy was her brother-in-law), and

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 27

Senator John F. Kennedy. Her closest friends at the time
were the Truitts, Ann and James. Ann was a sculptor and
Mary’s confidante; Jim Truitt was then a vice president of
the Washington Post.*

It was the Truitts in whom Mary Meyer confided about
her affair with Kennedy. And Truitt, an old Time-Life
correspondent, began keeping notes of what Mary told
him. Many years later Truitt showed his notes to and was
interviewed by the National Enquirer . The ensuing story
was a sensational one indeed.**

Suffice it to say that the romance lasted from January
1962 to November 1963, when JFK was murdered. Ac-
cording to Truitt, the President would entertain his lady
love in his living quarters several times a week during the
twenty-three-month period. The two would “usually have
drinks and dinner alone or sometimes with one of his
aides. Then the aides would excuse themselves and leave.”

Truitt’s notes record an episode on the night of July 16,
1962, when Mary turned JFK on with marijuana which
Truitt said later he had provided for the occasion. At first
JFK didn’t feel anything, but then he began to laugh and
reputedly told Mary: “We’re having a White House con-
ference on narcotics here in two weeks.” After the third

•Truitt, who had been a former assistant to publisher Philip Graham
until he died by his own hand, was let go from the newspaper in
late 1970. Because of that position Truitt obviously knew a lot
about the paper’s dirty linen. So the management sought to make
certain he wouldn’t talk by agreeing to pay him off in exchange for
his silence. Legal hush money?

On December 23, 1970, Frederick S. Beebe, then chairman of the
board of the Washington Post Company, sent Truitt a letter, stating
he had instructed “Bob Thome to send you a check for $35,000
as full payment in connection with the termination of your employ-
ment. . Beebe, however, added this astonishing caveat: “As I am
sure you understand from our recent discussions, this payment is
premised upon the assurance you have given that you will not in the
future write anything for publication about your experiences as an
employe at the Post that is in any way derogatory of the Company,
Phil or the Graham family.”

**So sensational in fact that it could not be ignored by the Wash-
ington Post. A front-page story, written by Don Oberdorfer while
Bradlee was vacationing in the Virgin Islands, told of JFK’s two-
year love affair with Mrs. Meyer. But other newspapers and the net-
work news shows generally shunned the yarn. However, New Times
was later to explore the subject in great detail in a troubling article
by Phillip Nobile and Ron Rosenbaum entitled “The Mysterious
Murder of JFK’s Mistress.”

28

VICTOR LASKY

joint JFK said, “No more. Suppose the Russians did some-
thing now.”

Following Mary’s death, her diary was uncovered by her
sister, Tony Bradlee, who turned it over to James Angle-
ton, then chief of CIA counterinteligence. An old friend of
Mary Meyer, Angleton has since been vague as to what
happened to the diary. According to Truitt, however, the
document was taken to CIA headquarters, where it was
destroyed.

JFK’s fascination with Mary Meyer was alluded to by
Bradlee in Conversations with Kennedy . In one passage
Bradlee quotes the President as commenting after a White
House dance in February 1962 on “the overall appeal of
the daughter of Prince Paul of Yugoslavia and Mary
Meyer. ‘Mary would be rough to live with,’ Kennedy
noted, not for the first time. And I agreed, not for the
first time.” .

Kennedy apparently was able to keep any number of ro-
mances going at the same time. Thus, according to Earl
Wilson, the President had also been having a torrid ro-
mance with Marilyn Monroe for about a year before she
died. It was a story which the columnist decided to dis-
close in order to “set the record straight,” because Norman
Mailer, in his book on the actress, dwelled mainly on
Marilyn’s friendship with Robert Kennedy.

Another authority is Sidney Skolsky, the Hollywood
columnist, who wound up his memoirs by apologizing for
having failed to report at the time that JFK had climbed
into the sack with Miss Monroe.* Then followed this sig-
nificant observation: “I confess that I still find it grim to
speculate on what might have happened to me if I had
tried to write about this romance in my column when it
first came to my attention.”

Monroe’s death in August 1962 shook up the White
House — and every effort was made to downplay the rela-
tionships of Marilyn with the Kennedy brothers. For exam-
ple Bobby had been in Los Angeles the weekend of
Marilyn’s death. In fact women at a card party next door
to her home claimed they saw the Attorney General “and a
man with a doctor’s bag” enter her house the day she died.

* Don't Get Me Wrong — l Love Hollywood (New York: G. P. Put-
nam's Sons, 1975).

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 29

Yet Peter Lawford, then Kennedy’s brother-in-law, insisted
that RFK was not in California that weekend. This de-
spite the fact that two newspapers reported him as being
there.*

Perhaps more significant is the fact that much of the
official material relating to the Monroe death has disap-
peared. The complete file was removed from the records of
the Los Angeles Police Department and a top police of-
ficial — now dead — is suspected of having pulled the file
in order to curry favor with Attorney General Kennedy.
The official had had hopes of succeeding Hoover as FBI
director. Also missing were the records of Marilyn’s long-
distance phone calls. According to Slatzer, many of the
calls just prior to her death had been to Robert Kennedy.
And her last call apparently went to Lawford. The actor
himself told Earl Wilson that Marilyn’s last words, as she
slipped into unconsciousness, were: “Say goodby to Pat
[Pat Kennedy Lawford], say goodby to the President, and
say goodby to yourself because you’re a nice guy.”

Her death was officially listed as a “probable suicide.”
Slatzer, who thinks otherwise, has called for a new in-
quiry. But whatever did happen in the troubling case, the
truth is that there had indeed been a massive cover-up, one
designed to protect the Kennedys by hiding their relation-
ships with the actress. And while those relationships were
common gossip in press circles at the time, no major news-
paper or television network appeared interested enough to
delve into the story.

Almost a similar state of affairs occurred seven years
later when Senator Edward M. Kennedy drove a car carry-
ing a young lady named Mary Jo Kopechne off a bridge
at Chappaquiddick. From the start it was obvious that
“Teddy” was not telling the truth about the incident, which
involved the girl’s death by drowning. A report by the in-

* Unanswered, and troubling, questions about the Monroe death

are raised in an extraordinary book, The Life and Curious Death
of Marilyn Monroe, by Robert F. Slatzer, who claims to have been
one of the actress’s former husbands (New York: Pinnacle House,
1974). The reviews were few and far between. But Norman Mailer,
who had written at length about Bobby’s romance with Marilyn,
commented: “Slatzer’s book really presents such a massive amount
of evidence of the possibility of a murder that you’re left with the
feeling that it’s going to be harder now to prove that she did com-
mit suicide. . . .**

30

VICTOR LASKY

quest judge also characterized the senator’s driving of the
car as probably “criminal.” And that report doubted Ken-
nedy’s testimony on where he and the girl were headed
when the accident took place.

Yet the newspapers and networks dropped the story
after reporting the senator’s convoluted explanation of
what had happened that dark night in July 1969. It was
an explanation devised at an amazing gathering at Hyan-
nisport of the Camelot hierarchy come together to put a
gloss over the events at Chappaquiddick. Fortunately for
Kennedy, there was no tape recorder in his living room
at the compound to record what must have been a remark-
able discussion on how to circumvent the law.

In the wake of Watergate, however, several publica-
tions, including the Boston Globe and the Sunday Mag-
azine of The New York Times , did publish belated ac-
counts suggesting that Kennedy had not been fully re-
sponsive about Chappaquiddick. Which, of course, was a
polite way of calling him a liar. Nevertheless, once the
senator announced he was removing himself as a possible
1976 presidential contender, the matter was dropped. The
stark fact remains that Kennedy emerged from an ap-
parent negligent homicide with nothing more than a slap
on the hand.

Ironically Kennedy was the first major politician to get
interested in Watergate. Using the staff of his Subcom-
mittee on Administrative Practices and Procedures, he
launched his own private inquiry into the financing of the
break-in. And then he sought — successfully, as it turned
out — to convince the Senate Democratic leadership to
pursue the investigation more thoroughly. Obviously Ken-
nedy thought he had enough experience to tell a cover-
up when he saw one.

THREE

For sheer sleaziness in politics little can compare with the
tactics employed in the relentless and humorless drive of
the clan Kennedy to win control of the White House. And
no one was more aware of this than Hubert Humphrey,
who also sought the 1960 Democratic nomination for
President. For, as Theodore White put it, the Kennedy
organization “clubbed ,, the senator from Minnesota into
defeat.

At one point during the West Virginia primary Hum-
phrey was so angered by the campaign of smear and in-
nuendo being waged against him that he accused both Jack
and Bobby Kennedy of being guilty of “cheap, low-down
gutter politics.” He referred to Jack as “the spoiled candi-
date” and to his brother, as “that young, emotional, ju-
venile Bobby.”

The Kennedys even brought in a surrogate to do their
dirty work in West Virginia. In a state with a high per-
centage of war veterans, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Jr.,
extolled Kennedy as “the only wounded veteran” running
for President. Which, of course, could be considered hot
stuff down in the land of cricks and hollers. But then
Roosevelt added something new to his spiel. “There’s an-
other candidate in your primary,” he said. “He’s a good
Democrat, but I don’t know where he was in World
War II.”

The implication was quite clear: while JFK was coura-
geously defending the nation out there in the Pacific —
and getting wounded in the process — Hubert Humphrey
was hiding out in the hills somewhere.*

"'Actually Kennedy was not wounded. An old back injury, aggravated
by his PT-109 disaster, plus a bout with malaria, brought him home
from the Pacific.

32

VICTOR LASKY

The next day the Washington Star editorially assailed the
Roosevelt statement as “a new low in dirty politics.”
Which indeed it was, the newspaper noting that Hum-
phrey, married and the father of three children, had
sought to enlist in the' navy but had been rejected for a
physical disability.

Kennedy not only failed to repudiate Roosevelt, but he
issued an above-the-battle statement: “I have not discussed
the matter and I am not going to. Mr. Roosevelt is down
here making his speeches. I’m making mine.”

One would have thought that common decency would
have prevented still another attack on Humphrey. But no,
FDR, Jr., revived the issue, this time not only blasting
Humphrey as a “draft dodger” but reciting what he
described as Hubert’s efforts to obtain draft deferments
during World War II.

Finally, after this blow was struck in his behalf, Ken-
nedy issued a statement disapproving the injection of Hum-
phrey’s war record, or lack of one, into the campaign. But
at an election rally later that night Kennedy insisted that
no one had made “a greater contribution to the discus-
sion of the issues” than Franklin Roosevelt, Jr.

All of which constituted a classic case of having your
cake and eating it too.

Years later when questioned about his smearing of
Humphrey, FDR told Jerry Tallmer of the New York Post:
“The only thing I can say publicly about this is that it was
based on so-called reliable information which was made
available to me; and that it was used in the heart of the
closing days of a vital and decisive primary; and that when
) I found it was unwarranted I went to Mr. Humphrey and
not only ate crow but asked for his forgiveness.”

Privately, however, he admitted that the “so-called re-
liable information” about Humphrey had come to him
in dossier form from Robert Kennedy. “And Bobby left
me holding the bag,” he added bitterly.

The real inspiration for the unappetizing attack on
Humphrey’s patriotism was obviously Jack Kennedy, if
we are to believe Ben Bradlee. Almost two years after he
had bested the Minnesotan in the 1960 primaries, Bradlee
noted in his diary, Kennedy’s mind was still on Hum-
phrey’s war record, or lack of one.

The West Virginia primary had been, as one Charleston

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 33

newspaper described it, “one of the worst name-calling
campaigns in the history of presidential politics.” And it
ended amidst charges that the Kennedy forces had en-
gaged in vote-buying on a massive scale. “One of the most
corrupt elections in county history,” said another paper.

Whereupon the FBI conducted an intensive investigation
and filed a report of nearly 200 pages with the Justice De-
partment. After Drew Pearson reported that an indict-
ment of Bobby Kennedy was in the offiing, Jack Ken-
nedy demanded to know whether the Eisenhower admin-
istration intended to use the FBI as “a political weapon.”
The matter was dropped when the administration decided
against opening itself to accusations of political persecu-
tion. JFK had shrewdly nipped a potential crisis in the
bud.

' “Dirty tricks” also played a role in the Wisconsin
primary. As in West Virginia, the Kennedys had dragged
out the hobgoblin of James Hoff a with which to scare
the wits out of the rubes. Bobby, particularly, horrified
audiences with the “news” that the Teamsters leader was
prepared to spend “at least $2,000,000” to keep “my
brother, the Senator” out of the White House. The im-
plication, of course, was that Hoffa was in cahoots with
Humphrey.

The former mayor of Minneapolis could hardly contain
his anger. “You’re looking at a man who has fought the
rackets all his life,” roared Humphrey. “And I did so be-
fore some of the people who are doing all the talking about
rackets were dry behind the ears. Whoever is responsible
deserves to have a spanking. And I said spanking because
it applies to juveniles.”

Sixteen years later Humphrey was still angry. Writing
about the Kennedy campaign in the 1960 primaries, and
its wholesale buying of votes in West Virginia, the Minne-
sotan noted in his memoirs:* “As a professional politician,
I was able to accept and indeed respect the efficacy of the
Kennedy campaign. But underneath the beautiful exterior,
there was an element of ruthlessness and toughness that I
had trouble either accepting or forgetting.”

Another of Bobby’s “dirty tricks” — one that kicked back

*The Education of a Public Man: My Life and Politics (New York:
Doubleday, 1976).

34

VICTOR LASKY

in his face — concerned his planting a story that Jackie Rob-
inson, the first Black to break into organized baseball, had
joined Humphrey’s entourage only because he received a
fat fee.

As Robinson explained at the time, “When I inquired
as to who had put out such a story, a Milwaukee news-
papermen replied that Senator Kennedy’s brother, Robert,
had told him personally that I had been paid to join
Humphrey’s camp. I want to emphasize what I told that
reporter: Whoever originated such a story is a liar.”

Robert Kennedy did not respond. Months later during
the fall campaign, however, he tried to have the last word.
Appearing on the Barry Gray radio show in New York,
he unloosed a sharp personal attack on Robinson, then
supporting Nixon. He quoted extensively from a dossier
which he said had been compiled by his investigators.
Typical of the charges leveled by Bobby was the claim
that Chock Full o* Nuts, which employed Robinson as per-
sonnel director, was owned by a reactionary Republican.

Robinson, listening at home, replied immediately.
After noting that his employer was a registered member of
the Liberal party, who had contributed to the Humphrey
campaign, Robinson said: “If the younger Kennedy is go-
ing to resort to lies, then I can see what kind of cam-
paign this is going to be. I don’t see where my company
has anything at all to do with his brother’s having had
breakfast with the White Citizens’ Councils and the racist
Governor of Alabama.”

The significance of this episode is that, by his own ad-
mission, Robert Kennedy had used investigators to dig up
“dirt” on his brother’s opponents. Actually most of the in-
telligence operations were supervised by the candidate’s
father, Joseph P. Kennedy, who was not adverse to the
uses of political blackmail. “Going back to 1960,” wrote
Professor John P. Roche many years later, “in both the
primaries and the general election the late Joseph P. Ken-
nedy had an intelligence network that put the FBI to
shame.”

But what is most interesting in retrospect is the fact that
most liberals — and the media, for that matter — couldn’t
have cared less. Yet during the Nixon years they raised
bloody Cain when it was disclosed that the Nixon White
House had used a private investigator named Anthony

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 35

Ulasewicz to check into such incidents as Ted Kennedy’s
peculiar conduct at Chappaquiddick. And no publication
was more outraged about this delving into the private lives
of the celebrated than the Washington Post. Beginning in
1976, however, the Post began publishing a series of ex-
clusives about the sexual habits of certain members of Con-
gress including, of course, the then powerful Wayne Hays
of Ohio. Hays, who incidentally was strong for the im-
peachment of Nixon, was caught in a compromising situa-
tion by two young reporters assigned by Bradlee. The re-
sulting scandal led to Hays’s eventual retirement from
Congress.

But probably the “dirtiest trick” of all in 1960 was the
manner in which the Kennedys manipulated the “religious
issue” for their political benefit. In effect the Kennedys
used anti-Catholicism to win votes. In the closing days
of the Wisconsin primary, for example, vicious anti-
Catholic pamphlets were circulated widely throughout cer-
tain areas of the state. They were mailed in the many
thousands to Catholic homes and, as Marquis Childs re-
ported at the time, “often to individuals in care of the
local chapter of the Knights of Columbus. While they seem
to have originated with the lunatic fringe, the effect is
naturally to create sympathy for Kennedy. . . .^And this
may well be true not only among Kennedy’s fellow
Catholics in Wisconsin but among others who have all
along felt the injustice of discriminating against a candidate
for the Presidency because of his religion.”

Poor Humphrey and his aides knew immediately that
some Machiavellian force was giving them the business.
They believed that the mailings constituted a deceitful ex-
ercise in reverse psychology aimed at enraging Catholic
voters against Humphrey.

And they were right.

The Humphrey organization publicly demanded that the
U.S. Postal System trace the source of the literature. But
that was not to be. Only later was it determined who had
unloosed the bigoted material. It turned out that the source
was none other than one of Bobby’s hatchet men, a
mysterious figure named Paul Corbin, whose exotic back-
ground consisted of a former membership in the Com-
munist party and later an outspoken admiration for Senator
Joe McCarthy.

36 VICTOR LASKY

As National Review later reported: “Corbin was in-
volved in an anonymous mailing of virulently anti-Catholic
literature to Catholics from a mail drop across the line in
Minnesota, with such success that many of them, with a
sort of negative Pavlovian reflex, voted for Kennedy.”

It is significant that only National Review came up with
this extraordinary story. None of the big Establishment
newspapers, which were to have a field day exposing po-
litical chicanery during the Nixon years, seemed to be in-
terested. And yet the exploits of Corbin were far more
detrimental to the opposition than the later pranks of
Donald Segretti, which in the main were more childish than
serious. Needless to say, Segretti served time in the slam-
mer while Corbin — at the Kennedys’ suggestion — was
named an assistant to the Democratic National Chairman
and later placed on the payroll of the Joseph P. Ken-
nedy, Jr., Foundation.

Corbin’s activities in Wisconsin had the desired effect
Among other things Catholic Republicans by the many
thousands crossed over party lines to register their protest
against the “hate” literature flooding the state. This cross-
over was analyzed in detail over the CBS Television net-
work by pollster Elmo Roper. John Kennedy, according
to his chief aide Theodore Sorensen, “was so angry at
Roper’s telecast that he wrote a letter of protest to the
network.”

Actually Kennedy did more than just write. According to
David Wise’s carefully researched book, The Politics of
Lying * the candidate personally telephoned CBS President
Frank Stanton.

“Jack called from the airport in Fort Wayne,” Stanton
was quoted. “His voice was very strident. He objected to
the CBS analysis of the primary vote in Wisconsin and said
that we had raised the religious issue.”

Stanton agreed, but he noted that it wasn’t “something
we invented. The papers are commenting on the religious
issue, too.”

“But,” said Kennedy, “this is different. You’re licensed.”

Stanton was further outraged, he told Wise, when he
learned that Kennedy had told a CBS correspondent, “Wait
till I’m President — I’ll cut Stanton’s balls off.”

(New York: Random House, 1973).

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 37

The candidate’s brother, Bobby, had been particularly in-
censed by the reporting of one CBS correspondent. The
correspondent had reported from Wisconsin that the Cath-
olic vote in that state was being taken for granted by the
Kennedy forces. When this came to Bobby’s attention, he
went into an uncontrollable rage, sought out the correspon-
dent, and denounced him as a “Stevenson Jew.”

Only Jack Kennedy’s quick intervention prevented the
story of Bobby’s use of an ethnic slur from hitting the
nation’s front pages. He got Bobby to apologize to the cor-
respondent. One of the newsmen who had witnessed the
imbroglio was William Lawrence of The New York Times .
A good friend of the Kennedys, Lawrence did not file
anything on it. Other politicians probably would not have
been as fortunate.

But not all of the dirty tricks were committed by the
Kennedy forces. Kennedy himself was a victim. One of the
dirtiest and most decidedly illegal tricks was the bur-
glaries of the Manhattan offices of physicians who had
been treating the youthful candidate. The break-ins oc-
curred prior to the 1960 Democratic National Conven-
tion. Many years later one of the physicians, Dr. Eugene
J. Cohen, observed, “It was all done in a style similar to
the burglary of the offices of Ellsberg’s doctor.”

Dr. Cohen also said it was obvious that the burglars
were after the Kennedy files.

That same weekend there was another break-in at the
offices of Dr. Janet G. Travell, who had been treating
Kennedy’s bad back. As Dr. Cohen noted, “It didn’t take
[the police] long to put two and two together. They asked
who our patients were and when both of us came up with
Kennedy, it was obvious what it was all about.”

In recalling the two burglaries, The New York Times
noted on May 4, 1973: “Mr. Kennedy’s health had been an
issue before and during the 1960 campaign with his Dem-
ocratic opponents circulating reports that he suffered from
Addison’s disease.”

Actually rumors about Kennedy’s health had been cir-
culating for many years. In 1954, for example. Time dis-
closed that the senator had Addison’s Disease, an incurable
but controllable deficiency of adrenal secretions. Five
years later Fletcher Knebel reported in the Des Moines
Register that a “whispering campaign aimed at discredit-

38

VICTOR LASKY

ing Senator Kennedy as a Presidential candidate has gained
increasing momentum in recent weeks. The whisperers have
been stating as a fact that Kennedy has Addison’s disease.
So virulent is the power of gossip that even Governor
Edmund G. [Pat] Brown of California was impelled to ask
Kennedy personally about it. In an interview Kennedy
said there is no basis to the rumor. He said he has tried
in vain to learn the source.”

According to his biographer, James MacGregor Bums,
JFK had an “adrenal insufficiency” which some doctors
could conceivably diagnose “as a mild case of Addison’s
Disease.”

But exactly what information was obtained during the
break-ins at the doctors’ offices and exactly how that in-
formation was used, if indeed it was, was never established.
Outside of a routine police investigation no one really
probed in depth. If the Kennedy people were alarmed,
they did not show it publicly. Perhaps it was because that
was the sort of thing one simply expected in politics. And
no one knew that better than John Kennedy and his as-
sociates, to whom “information” about the opposition was
a way of life.

Ironically it was Kennedy who brought the issue of
health to the fore. Just prior to the Democratic Conven-
tion he declared that the presidency demanded “the
strength and health and vigor of young men.” This im-
mediately was interpreted as a slap at his rival for the
nomination, Lyndon Johnson, who had suffered a massive
heart attack five years earlier.

Some weeks before, a rumor had swept the Texas Dem-
ocratic Convention about LBJ’s having suffered another
heart attack. Johnson said he had reason to believe the
rumor had been launched by the Kennedy camp and was
designed to make his health a major issue at the national
convention. “It was that little bastard Bobby,” LBJ told
intimates.

The Johnson camp soon retaliated. At a press con-
ference John Connally, then a Fort Worth lawyer, an-
nounced that the rumors about Jack Kennedy were true —
namely, that the young Bostonian suffered from Ad-
dison’s Disease. And India Edwards chimed in with the
observation that Kennedy was the only man “offering him-
self for President who has been absent eight months in one

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 39

year because of illness,” a reference to the senator’s ill-
ness in 1954, when he underwent surgery for a spinal disc
condition. She threw in the claim that because of Ad-
dison’s Disease, Kennedy was completely dependent on
cortisone.

None of the reporters present asked where the Johnson
people had obtained what after all was presumably con-
fidential medical information.

Johnson himself assured a group of reporters that he
knew as a fact that Kennedy was so stricken with Ad-
dison’s Disease that the young senator “looked like a
spavined hunchback.” Kennedy wasn’t overly happy with
the remark, but he let it pass.

Twelve years later, during the 1972 campaign, burglars
broke into the office of Nixon’s personal physician and
looked at the President’s medical file. Dr. John Lungren,
who had last examined Nixon in 1969, reported that rec-
ords had been disturbed by intruders, who took nothing
although cash was in plain view.

“I don’t believe that any of the records were missing,
but the papers were out of their chronological order and
obviously scrutinized,” Lungren said. “There is the sup-
position that they might have been photographed.”

According to Lungren, the papers in the manila en-
velope file dated back to Nixon’s days as Vice President
and constituted “his complete medical record.” But he
doubted whether the records could have been of any value
to the burglars, since “every examination I’ve ever given
him showed him to be in perfect health.”

According to the Long Beach (Calif.) Independent -
Press Telegram , which broke the story, sources within the
FBI indicated the Bureau felt the documents had been
either photographed or hand-copied.

Apparently the burglars found nothing useful, for the
issue of Nixon’s health never arose during the 1972 cam-
paign. Which is not to imply that his Democratic op-
ponent, George McGovern, may have had anything to do
with the break-in. What appears more likely, according to
FBI sources, is that members of one of those left-wing
guerrilla groups so prolific in California may have engi-
neered the caper on their own as part of their ceaseless
campaign to “get” the man they hated most in public
life.

40

VICTOR LASKY

The story of the Lungren break-in received sparse atten-
tion in the nation’s press and television networks when it
finally broke in May of 1973. None of the big newspapers
or networks, then pursuing Watergate with a vengeance,
deigned to relegate any of their investigatory resources to
solving the break-in. They had become far more interested
in the burglary of the office of the psychiatrist who had
treated Daniel J. Ellsberg, the man who had pilfered and
publicized the Pentagon Papers. And the argument was
that, even if the break-in was conceived as in the interests
of national security, the end did not justify the illegal
means.

But the press failed to object to a transgression of its
own when in September 1973 — at the very height of Water-
gate — the New York Post reproduced medical records
which had been stolen from the files of St. Luke’s Hos-
pital. The records pertained to the illness of District At-
torney Frank S. Hogan, who was then running for re-
election. They indicated that Hogan was far more seriously
ill than had been previously acknowledged.

Nevertheless the documents had been stolen, and Robert
Spitzler, managing editor of the Post , refused to discuss how
or from whom his newspaper had obtained them. But he
defended the publication of the material, saying, “It was
incumbent on us to print the truth. Lies were told for a
month. The overriding consideration was the public’s right
to know.”

The article provoked a protest from the New York
County Medical Society’s Board of Censors, which over-
sees medical ethics. The group questioned how a news-
paper could have approved such a violation of the con-
fidential doctor-patient relationship after it had so angrily
criticized the attempted burglary of Ellsberg’s psychiatric
files.

No one, incidentally, went to jail for the violation of
Hogan’s civil rights. No one was even arrested for the
crime.

FOUR

Adlai Stevenson, it must be recalled, was also in the race
for the 1960 presidential nomination. His legions consisted
largely of intellectuals, students, and folks with a penchant
for joining such organizations as Americans for Democratic
Action and the American Civil Liberties Union. In short
Adlai still had the heart of much of what was liberal
America.

All of which was troubling to the Kennedy clan. For
many liberals were still uncertain about Jack. They re-
membered him as being equivocal, at best, about “Mc-
Carthyism.” And they were outraged by the excesses at-
tributed to both Jack’s father and brother. Adlai himself
had been quoted as saying that “the amount of money be-
ing spent” by the Kennedys “is phenomenal, probably the
highest amount spent on a campaign in history.” Stevenson
also described Kennedy as being “somewhat arrogant.”

Stevenson’s forces were making their numbers felt in
Los Angeles, where the Democratic Convention was being
held. They were everywhere, buttonholing delegates, get-
ting on television, and giving the impression that, somehow,
Adlai would beat the odds and succeed in obtaining his
third nomination for the presidency.

Though the Kennedy forces felt they had the nomina-
tion in the bag, they knew that anything could happen,
particularly at a volatile convention. They feared a gang-up
on the part of their three remaining rivals, Stevenson,
Lyndon Johnson, and Stuart Symington.

Stevenson’s headquarters were located in a soon-to-be-
abandoned loft building on Pershing Square in downtown
Los Angeles, across the park from the Biltmore Hotel.
Security was virtually nil as people roamed at will through-
out the five floors of the ramshackle edifice. Direct tele-
phone lines connected the Stevenson people with their

42

VICTOR LASKY

trailer truck parked outside Convention Hall at the Sports
Arena.

On July 12, 1960, The New York Times published this
short dispatch:

Los Angeles, July 11 (UPI) — A spokesman for the •
Stevenson for President Campaign Committee said to-
night that its telephone lines at the Democratic Na-
tional Convention had been tapped.

John Sharon said he was so informed by a security
officer for the Democratic National Committee.

He told reporters that the officer said that the
Stevenson lines from inside the sports area to a
trailer outside, and one from the trailer to hotel head-
quarters, both had been tapped.

Mr. Sharon would not speculate on who might have
tapped the lines.

But others working for Stevenson were not as reticent.
They stated quite flatly that they suspected the wiretapping
was the work of Kennedy “goons.” And during the con-
vention proceedings themselves, as Ted White reported in
The Making of the President 1960 , several Stevenson lead-
ers stated “that the Kennedy walkie-talkies were power-
ful and sensitive enough to monitor their own more primi-
tive radio communications with the [convention] floor.”

But who — to use the vernacular made popular by John
Dean at a later date — had “screwed” whom back at the
Democratic Convention?

Apparently the Kennedys had been done a major injus-
tice in the light of what has since been revealed. It turns
out that they themselves were victimized by a “dirty trick”
of monumental proportions.

What occurred at the 1960 convention was a con job
on the part of Adlai’s people which fooled many delegates
and journalists, including me.

And the man responsible for the con job was David
Garth, a chubby-faced, cigar-smoking New Yorker who
has since become more renowned as a media consultant
for numerous Democratic candidates.

Garth had joined the Stevenson team in early 1960,
when he became chairman of a New York committee to
draft Adlai for the nomination. At the convention itself

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 43

Garth orchestrated a “spontaneous” series of demonstra-
tions for Stevenson which, as The Village Voice later
noted, “came surprisingly close to knocking John Ken-
nedy out of the presidential box.” Whether Kennedy actual-
ly was in that much danger can be argued. But few ob-
servers at the scene can dispute the fact that Stevenson’s
troops came mighty close to disrupting the proceedings.
Among other things Adlai’s people had perfected the
ancient political art of forging convention tickets in order
to pack the galleries at the Sports Arena.

Many years later in an interview with Jack Newfield
published in New York , Dave Garth boasted about another
caper he had pulled off in Los Angeles:

“We had put a tap on the Kennedy phone lines into the
Amphitheater. And then we put out a statement accusing
the Kennedy people of putting a tap on the Stevenson
phones. Bobby ran into me in a parking lot, and boy, was
he angry.”*

In telling of this choice piece of chutzpah , Garth voiced
pride rather than guilt, according to Newfield. The inter-
view took place in mid-1970, at a time when Watergate was
still only the name of a plush apartment-office complex
on the banks of the Potomac. In other words it was be-
fore wiretapping in a political context had taken on more
notorious connotations.

The irony of ironies came less than a year after the
Los Angeles convention, when Garth was named chairman
of New York’s Fair Campaign Practices Committee, an or-
ganization devoted to combatting “dirty tricks” in politics.
Since then, as a political consultant, this self-confessed wire-
tapper has represented such clients as Mayor John Lind-
say, Senator Adlai Stevenson, Jr., of Illinois, Senator John
Tunney of California, former Governor Jack Gilligan of
Ohio, Governor Brendan Byrne of New Jersey, Mayor
Tom Bradley of Los Angeles, Congressman Richard Ot-
tinger of New York, and Governor Hugh Carey of New
York. And, needless to say, all of these Democratic
worthies — Garth represents mainly Democrats of the lib-

*The Kennedy high command in order to discourage such efforts
had announced that their elaborate communications setup was de-
cidedly “spy-proof.” They were wrong. The Stevenson people were
privy to their phone conversations.

44 VICTOR LASKY

eral persuasion — have commented with horror on the evils
of Watergate.

In the presidential race itself, the epic battle between
Kennedy and Nixon, the Democratic candidate employed
the same tactics that he had tried out against Humphrey
in the primaries. There was a new wrinkle, however. This
time Kennedy implied that Nixon, of all people, was some-
how soft on communism. This was because Harry Bridges,
the left-wing boss of West Coast longshoremen, had an-
nounced he would vote Republican that year because, he
claimed, JFK was a foe of labor.

“It’s an interesting fact,” Kennedy trumpeted, “that
neither the Teamsters Union nor the Longshoremen’s
Union dominated by Mr. Bridges is supporting me in this
campaign and that both unions are opposing me. ... I
want to get the crooks and the Communists out of the
union movement, like Mr. Bridges. ...”

Thus the belated champion of liberalism made the point
that Nixon was being supported by “crooks and Com-
munists.” And no one in the media, which constantly is on
the lookout for intemperate political remarks, seemed to
care — or even notice.

Like a broken record Kennedy kept coming back to
Hoffa, contending among other things that the Justice De-
partment had not “carried out the laws in the case of Mr.
Hoffa with vigor.” Of course everyone knew that Justice
was headed by one of Nixon’s oldest political friends,
William P. Rogers. “In my judgment,” JFK added, “an
effective Attorney General with the present laws on the
books could remove Mr. Hoffa from office” — and presum-
ably put him behind bars. (Years later during Nixon’s
second try for the presidency, the Republican candidate
also called for an “effective Attorney General,” contend-
ing that Lyndon Johnson’s chief law officer Ramsey Clark

was soft on crime.) . . .

Following his primary victory in West Virginia, Jack
Kennedy had stated that he believed “we have now buried
the religiqus issue” once and for all.

But it was a short burial. The issue was soon revived
by the Kennedy forces. Even the liberal Commonweal
wondered whether the issue wasn’t being kept alive by the
Kennedys “to take advantage of the natural resentment

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 45

many Catholics feel when the so-called religious issue is
raised.”

And once again vast amounts of anti-Catholic literature
were flooding the country. Down in South Carolina the
Greenville News noted that much of the bigoted material
originated in the North. “The origin of this material makes
us all the more curious as to just who is mainly responsible
for its distribution. . . . The question is: Who is making
the most use of the religious issue, and for or against
whom?”

It was a good question. Of course almost everyone in-
cluding Nixon knew the answer. Try as he might, Nixon
could not keep the issue out of the campaign. His op-
ponent kept bringing it up. And there was no way to stop
him. After all, it was one of the biggest things Kennedy
had going for him.

The outright cynicism implicit in keeping the issue alive
was demonstrated when Bobby, as campaign manager, ac-
cused the Republicans of spending over $1 million to dis-
tribute anti-Catholic propaganda. Following the campaign,
this allegation was checked out by the Fair Campaign
Practices Committee, which found it to be without founda-
tion.

The religious ploy paid off. In the end a massive swing
of Catholic voters to Kennedy was the biggest factor in his
election. According to George Gallup, the Catholic vote for
the Democrats leaped to 78 percent in 1960, a 27-point
jump from 1956. Which was a major reason Kennedy took
lopsided majorities in the big cities.

“One thing is certain,” pollster Elmo Roper observed
in the Saturday Review . “If there was a net victim of re-
ligious prejudice it was Nixon more than Kennedy.”

And Boston's Richard Cardinal Cushing, following the
election, nominated Nixon as “Good Will Man of the
Year,” explaining that “during the recent campaign which
tested and taxed all his powers, physical and mental, he
never exploited the religious or any other issue that
would tend to divide the American people.”

During the campaign Nixon had been the target of other
low-level tactics. In Black districts in the North handbills
and posters were distributed reproducing a racist co-
venant in Nixon's deed to his Washington home. The

46

VICTOR LASKY

covenant barred future sale of the property to any Negro
or “Armenians, Jews, Hebrews and Syrians.” What was not
mentioned was the fact that when Nixon purchased the
house, such covenants had been outlawed by the Supreme
Court for three years. At the same time Nixon was being
pictured as “integrationist” in the South. There Democrats
were circulating in white communities leaflets which dis-
played the Vice President in friendly poses with Black
people. The caption read: “Vice President Richard M.
Nixon has been an NAACP member for over ten years!”

There had been one major effort to link the Republican
party with . a group of Protestant clergymen who were
seriously concerned about whether a Catholic President
could resist pressures from the Pope. Whether wiretaping
was involved in this effort, as alleged by one of the sup-
posed participants, is a big question that has yet to be
resolved. What is now known, however, is that the Ken-
nedy forces authorized acts of surveillance and espionage
aimed at the clergymen, including a former Republican
congressman.

The central figure in all of this was Carmine Bellino, a
former FBI specialist in accounting with close ties to the
Kennedy family. In 1947 following thirteen years of gov-
ernment service, Bellino shared an office with Robert A.
Maheu in Washington. The rent was paid in part by the
Central Intelligence Agency, so that — as Maheu was to tes-
tify many years later — “I would be available to them as
situations arose.”* The testimony was given in Los Angeles
in connection with Maheu’s $17.3 million defamation suit
against Howard Hughes, for whom he had once worked.

Whether Bellino did any work for the CIA in this period
was not disclosed at the trial. But he did have wide ex-
perience in congressional investigations. Bellino had worked
for the Senate Select Committee investigating labor racke-

*One of those “situations/* as it turned out, led to Maheu’s hiring of
Mafia leaders Roselli and Giancana in the CIA plot to assassinate
Castro. Prior to that the CIA enlisted Maheu to arrange the pro-
duction of "a pornographic film purporting to show Indonesian
President Sukarno engaging in sexual relations with a woman in
Moscow. The object of the bogus film was to arouse Sukarno’s anger
against the Soviet government by arranging for its circulation in
Indonesia, presumably under Soviet auspices. However the film was
never shown as planned.

IT didn’t START WITH WATERGATE 47

teering when Robert Kennedy was its chief counsel. And
Bobby described Bellino as “the best investigator in
America.”

Later Bellino worked for Bobby, when he managed his
brother’s presidential campaign. He carried out various
intelligence assignments, utilizing the services of former
FBI and CIA agents as well as private investigators. Bellino
reported directly to Bobby.

Among those who worked for Bellino were John W.
Leon, a Washington private eye; Edward Murray Jones, a
former congressional investigator; Oliver W. Angelone, a
former FBI agent; and John Joseph Frank, a former FBI
and CIA agent During the campaign Joseph Shimon,
then an inspector in the Washington Police Department,
had been requested to cooperate in a plan which, accord-
ing to his sworn affidavit, involved the installation of
eavesdropping devices in hotel rooms occupied by Republi-
cans.

In 1962 Leon, Angelone, Frank, and Shimon were in-
dicted in a wiretaping case in which a lawyer for the El
Paso Natural Gas Company, in Washington for a Federal
Power Commission hearing, found an electronic bug under
a coffee table in his suite at the Mayflower Hotel. All four
were later convicted.

But no one at the time of the “Mayflower Case,” as it
was then billed in the press, linked the defendants to
Bellino, for whom they had carried out assignments dur-
ing the 1960 campaign. The main reason, of course, was
that they had been working under cover for the Kennedy
campaign and few knew of the relationship. Disclosure of
the Bellino connection could have been dreadfully em-
barrassing, for by this time Bellino was serving as a special
White House consultant handling sensitive behind-the-
scenes investigations for the new President. Among other
things he was asked by both Kennedys to check into their
wives* excessive spending habits to determine whether
someone wasn’t stealing them blind.

But mostly Bellino’s activities resembled those of the
White House “plumbers” of the Nixon era. Years later it
was disclosed that, at President Kennedy’s personal direc-
tion, Bellino had obtained from the Internal Revenue
Service the tax returns of numerous citizens. Exactly what
was done with this supposedly confidential data can only

48 VICTOR LASKY

be surmised. What is known is that Kennedy often de-
lighted in telling friends just how much — or how little —
billionaires like John Paul Getty and H. L. Hunt were
paying in federal taxes. Needless to say, this was informa-
tion Which not even a President was entitled to know.

Bellino maintained his intimate connections with the
Kennedy family after the President’s death. Having been
let go by the Johnson White House, he turned up as chief
investigator for the Senate Subcommittee on Practices and
Procedures, chaired by Senator Edward M. Kennedy. In
1973 he was named chief investigator for the Select Senate
Watergate Committee, headed by Sam Ervin. For Bellino
it was like old times — once again he was going after
Nixon. And then all hell broke loose.

On July 24, 1973, during the Watergate hearings, Re-
publican National Chairman George Bush released three
sworn affidavits suggesting that Bellino had recruited spies
to help defeat Nixon in the 1960 presidential campaign.

Bellino flatly denied the charges.

One of the affidavits was signed by John Leon, who
claimed he had been retained by Bellino in 1960 to “in-
filtrate the operations” of Albert B. (“Ab”) Hermann, a
longtime employee of the Republican National Committee.
After failing to “penetrate the office operations” of the
national committee, Leon swore that he was instructed by
Bellino to place Hermann “under physical surveillance.”
He said he had watched Hermann’s office with field glasses
and used “an electric device known as ‘the big ear’ aimed
at Mr. Hermann’s window.”

Among those who assisted him in the surveillance “on
two or three nights each” were John Frank and Eddie
Jones. The Leon affidavit also said that Jones had described
himself as “the world’s greatest wiretapper,” Jones boasting
that under Bellino’s supervision he had successfully tapped
James Hoffa’s telephones in Tampa, Florida.

“During long conversations with me,” Leon went on,
“Ed Jones stated that he had tapped the telephones of
three ministers in the Mayflower Hotel in the fall of 1960.
According to Jones, Carmine Bellino suspected that these
ministers were responsible for some of the anti-Catholic,
anti-Kennedy literature that was distributed during the
1960 campaign. Ed Jones told me he could not spend

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 49

much time with me on surveillance because he had several
good wiretaps going for Bellino.”

Leon also said that following one of the televised 1960
debates between Kennedy and Nixon, he had a discussion
with John Frank, Oliver Angelone, and another investigator
whose name he could not recall. “There was agreement that
Mr. Kennedy was extremely well prepared for points raised
by Mr. Nixon — that he ‘had the debate all wrapped up.’
Angelone remarked ‘Jonesy really did his job well this
time.’ ”

The Leon affidavit added: “Although I did not partici-
pate in installation of eavesdropping devices and did not
tap telephone lines for Carmine Bellino during the 1960
campaign, I am confident that Ed Jones and Oliver An-
gelone successfully bugged the Nixon space or tapped his
phones prior to the television debate.”

But Jones denied he had ever engaged in bugging or
wiretapping “against Republican party officials.” In a sworn
affidavit, however, he did concede that while working for
Bellino he had participated “in two surveillance efforts prior
to the 1960 presidential election. Although I could not
identify the subjects of these surveillances, I assume they
were Republican officials or supporters. Two or three teams
and cars were used in the surveillance and other members
of the team had the responsibility of identification of the
subject. I recall that Bellino was present on one or both
surveillances.”

According to Jones, “one of the surveillances was at Na-
tional Airport, where we attempted to pick up an individual
coming to Washington. The other surveillance effort in-
volved an individual with offices in the vicinity of 19th and
M Streets; N.W., Washington, D.C.”

The third affidavit released by George Bush was signed
by Joseph Shimon, a retired Washington police inspector,
who claimed that during the 1960 campaign he had been
approached by Oliver Angelone to help him gain access
to the top two floors of the Wardman Park Hotel (now the
Sheraton Park) that Nixon planned to occupy, for the
purpose of installing eavesdropping devices. At the time
Angelone explained he was working for Bellino. But
Shimon declined the offer because, as he explained, “I did
not desire to jeopardize my status in the Metropolitan

50

VICTOR LASKY

Police Department.” (Later Shimon became a defendant
in the “Mayflower Case.”)

Angelone, whose conviction in the Mayflower Case was
reversed in the U.S. Court of Appeals on grounds he had
been granted immunity for testifying before a grand jury,
denied he ever appealed to Shimon for any such help. But
he conceded that in the course of the 1960 campaign
Bellino had asked him to try to find out at what hotel a
certain individual, whose name he could not remember,
was staying. It was possible, he said, that he might have
asked Shimon to assist him in getting the registration card
of this person. Angelone’s recollection was that the individ-
ual in whom Bellino was interested had registered at the
Wardman Park.

Bellino, the center of the controversy, came out fight-
ing. He accused Bush of seeking “to distract me from
carrying out what I consider one of the most important
assignments of my life.”

In a later statement he denied any partisan motives in his
activities as chief investigator of the Watergate Committee.
He claimed that he had even campaigned for Nixon when
he ran for Vice President in 1952.

But Bellino’s “nonpartisanship” was called into question
when it was disclosed that he had paid for a full-page
advertisement in the Elizabeth, New Jersey, Daily Journal
of October 29, 1968, which attacked Nixon for allegedly
accepting Hoffa’s support in 1960. The ad urged readers
to vote for Humphrey and Muskie. The truth is that, what-
ever his feeling toward Nixon may have been back in the
early fifties, Bellino’s dislike of the Republican candidate
in later years was most intense. This may have been the
result of his long and intimate relationship with the Ken-
nedys.

Nevertheless Bellino flatly and unequivocally denied
ever having asked Leon or anyone else to undertake any
wiretapping or electronic surveillance at any time.

But he did admit complicity in the physical surveillance
of certain individuals. His purpose was to determine the
source of certain literature believed to be anti-Catholic.
He did remember sending his two sons along with some-
one, possibly Jones, out to National Airport to tail a former
congressman named O. K. Armstrong who, Bellino had
learned, would be arriving on a certain flight. How he ob-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 51

tained this information he did not say. But he did say that
he had been asked by Bobby Kennedy to determine
whether Armstrong, a member of the editorial staff of the
Reader's Digest, would make contact with other Repub-
licans while in Washington.

Jones and the two Bellino boys lost the former congress-
man at the airport. Somehow Bellino learned that Arm-
strong was going to attend a meeting of Protestant ministers
at the Mayflower Hotel, at which the chief speaker was to
be the Reverend Norman Vincent Peale. “In this connec-
tion,” said Bellino, “I was in the lobby observing those en-
tering to determine whether anyone of interest was par-
ticipating.” Bellino added that he may have reported to
Bobby Kennedy on what he saw. But he denied Leon’s al-
legation that several of the clergymen’s rooms had been
wiretapped at his behest.

Bellino said that, in line with Bobby Kennedy’s request,
he was attempting to determine whether Armstrong was
going to meet with Republican leaders while in Washing-
ton. As it happened, after the Mayflower meeting was
over, Armstrong did confer with “Ab” Hermann about
prospective speaking engagements.

Bellino could not recall whether he ever asked John
Leon to do any work for him during the 1960 campaign.
But he was quite certain that he had never authorized
any surveillance of Hermann at that time, as contended by
Leon.

Bellino did concede knowing Leon, but in another con-
nection. He said that Leon’s firm. Allied Investigating
Services, had done some work for his firm in the fifties.
And Bellino had also known Eddie Jones. This was when
Bobby Kennedy hired Jones as an investigator for the
Senate Rackets Committee. At the time, Bellino recalled,
the hiring caused a “bit of a flap” because Jones had been
indicted in New York in the late forties in a wiretapping
case. Nevertheless Bellino used Jones in Detroit in connec-
tion with the investigation of Hoffa and other Teamster
leaders.

As for Angelone, Bellino said, all that former FBI agent
did for him during the campaign was to locate a hotel reg-
istration card, presumably that of O. K. Armstrong.

Needless to say, Armstrong was absolutely flabbergasted
many years later when he learned that he had been the

52

VICTOR LASKY

subject of a surveillance directed by Bellino. He did recall,
however, flying to Washington to attend a private meeting
of clergymen and laymen pledged to support Nixon. The
meeting, which was held at the Mayflower Hotel, was ad-
dressed by Peale and others.

“At the close of one of the afternoon speeches,” Arm-
strong recalled, “someone on the stage drew back the cur-
tain, and discovered a man sitting on the floor, with a tape
recorder in his hands. Apparently he had recorded every
word said at the meeting, for the media next day had
verbatim reports of Dr. Peale’s speech and of my re-
marks. . . .”

“I have discussed this with Mr. Bellino,” Armstrong
went on, “and he could not recall who selected my name
for shadowing, who was at the airport and why, except
that ‘wewanted to find out what the Republicans were do-
ing.* His memory was also faulty as to why Dr. Peale
was shadowed, and as to who obtained a copy of Peale’s
speech the day before it was delivered.”

There was no way for anyone to have obtained an ad-
vance copy of the Peale speech, according to Armstrong.
As he wrote to a Senate investigator, “There was no copy,
or manuscript, of Dr. Peale’s speech.” The fact was that
“he spoke extemporaneously. . . . The quotes in the papers
next day were from the tape recordings made by the man
hidden behind the curtain of the meeting room — planted,
likely, by Bellino himself. Bellino *s statement that they had
a copy of Dr. Peale’s speech is completely false.”

Also false, according to Armstrong, was the interpreta-
tion that the quotes released to the press without Dr.
Peale’s permission were anti-Catholic. The well-played
story that one of Nixon’s most prominent religious sup-
porters was a “bigot” did enormous damage to the Repub-
lican cause. According to Armstrong, the entire Bellino
caper was a prime example of a “dirty trick.”

Following the publication of the Bush charges against
Bellino, Chairman Ervin appointed a subcommittee to look
into them. He named as its head Herman Talmadge, Dem-
ocrat of Georgia, and as other members Daniel K. Inouye,
Democrat of Hawaii, and Edward Gurney, Republican of
Florida.

For the most part the subcommittee conducted its inves-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 53

tigation of Bellino in half-hearted fashion. It was a chore
that had to be done and it was done as quickly as possible.

Unfortunately there was no way to interrogate the prin-
cipal witness against Bellino. For John Leon had died just
days before Bush made public his signed affidavit.

Nevertheless the inquiry produced some interesting side-
lights. One was a letter to Leon from Robert Kennedy
dated November 17, 1960:

I have been advised of the help which you ex-
tended in Senator Kennedy’s campaign. I just want you
to know how much I appreciate your interest and
efforts in my brother’s behalf.

Thank you again, and I hope I will have a chance
to see you in the near future.

Apparently the Kennedys relied on Leon for another in-
vestigative service. In a letter to his Washington attorney
Arthur G. Lambert, dated October 5, 1967, Leon wrote
that he had been asked on July 6, 1961, by James M. Mc-
Inerney, an attorney representing both President Kennedy
and his brother,

to run a Polygraph [lie-detector] examination on a
personal friend of Bobby Kennedy, Paul Corbin. Mr.
Corbin was slated for a high position in the Kennedy
Administration, and the FBI had come up with in-
formation that associated him with the Communist
party.

This was a very unusual request, coming from the
Attorney General, asking me to clear a man that his
own FBI had indicated was a member of the Com-
munist party. I made a very careful examination of
the man, and forwarded a report on my tests, which
clearly were to some extent in contradiction to FBI
reports.

The Leon letter also recited much of the material con-
tained in his later affidavit. Though he made no reference
to Bellino, he wrote of his surveillance of Hermann and
of Ed Jones’s statement to him that he was tapping the
telephones of clergymen at the Mayflower. In addition,

54 VICTOR LASKY

according to the letter, Leon and Frank had “confided”
that they had been “recruited for the campaign of the late
President Kennedy to ‘black bag’ some hotel rooms in the
Mayflower Hotel,” tasks “they had performed gratuitous-
ly.”*

Some of these statements had turned up as early as De-
cember 21, 1965, when John Leon was interviewed by
Bernard Fensterwald, then chief counsel to a Senate Sub-
committee looking into wiretapping. Based on the notes
he took at the interview, Fensterwald did recall that Leon
may have told him that Bellino had asked Leon to do po-
litical surveillance; that Leon said he would do physical
surveillance but could not handle electronic work; and that
it was Jones who undertook the electronic work. However
this information was not brought out at the opening hear-
ings because, said Fensterwald, Chairman Edward V. Long
of Missouri thought the thrust of his investigation should
be concentrated more on industrial and marital bugging
than on political. A more likely reason was that Long did
not want to tangle with a fellow Democratic senator, Rob-
ert F. Kennedy of New York.

Among the handwritten notes made by Fensterwald dur-
ing his interview with Leon was this reference: “Jones was
supposed to get a job when RFK gets in.” The record
shows that, following JFK’s election in 1960, Jones was
employed as an investigator by the Immigration and
Naturalization Service. After 1967 he was assigned to the
Philippines. Also working for the government is Angelone.
Since 1964 he has been an investigative officer in the
New York offices of the General Services Administration.

At the very least it was firmly established by even the
desultory investigation conducted by the Talmadge sub-
committee that Bellino had initiated and even participated
in the surveillance of political opponents. Normally it
would be assumed that such a belated disclosure would

•“Black-bagging” is the vernacular for illegal break-ins and bur-
glaries committed by law enforcement agencies. The FBI, for exam-
ple, had special teams trained and equipped for such assignments.
Usually “black bag jobs” were performed to obtain diplomatic
materials such as codebooks at foreign embassies or in underworld
haunts. Another target has been radical groups of all sorts. The
Trotskyite Socialist Workers party, along with the Ku Klux Klan,
were repeatedly victimized by FBI break-ins, as were Arab groups
suspected of harboring anti-Jewish terrorists.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 55

have horrified the members of a Senate committee looking
into such political excesses.

Instead the chairman of the Watergate Committee, the
sainted Sam Ervin, fully exonerated Bellino and described
him as “a faithful public servant of exemplary character.”

FIVE

Probably the ultimate “dirty trick” — far more conse-
quential than anything that was said to have occurred in
Watergate — was the theft of the 1960 election. For this
was an outright repudiation of the will of the American
people.

During that long election night in November 1960 when
the final votes cast by more than 69 million Americans
(then the largest turnout in U.S. history) were being
counted, the identity of the victor was uncertain. Finally
everything appeared to hang on Illinois. According to Ben
Bradlee, Jack Kennedy placed a call to Richard Daley.
And it was from the lips of the Chicago mayor that
Kennedy for the first time heard those rapturous words,
“Mr. President.”

“Mr. President,” Daley told Kennedy, “with a little bit
of luck and the help of a few close friends, you’re going
to carry Illinois.”

And that is how Kennedy knew he had it made. He
could now retire after a long, exasperating night fully
aware that “Der Mare,” whom he and his family had
cultivated for many years, would come through for him —
as he most decidedly did. Though Bradlee had “often won-
dered about (Daley’s) statement,” the Washington Post
executive didn’t think it mattered too much since someone
had once told him that the Republicans “could well have
stolen as many votes in Southern Illinois as Daley might
have stolen in Cook County.” In other words, to quote the
phrase made popular during Watergate, everybody does it.
Years later, however, Nixon’s associates were to go to jail
for political crimes. Kennedy’s kept getting reelected mayor
of Chicago.

“That the Daley-controlled wards in Chicago supplied

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 57

the 10,000 votes to put over the Kennedy- Johnson ticket
can hardly be questioned,” conceded the pro-Kennedy col-
umnist Marquis Childs thirteen years later. And he felt
that^in hindsight it might have been better (for Nixon)
to have faced up to the frauds of 1960.” But there is noth-
ing in the record to indicate that Childs himself suggested
any such thing at the time of Kennedy’s razor-thin victory
over Nixon. In fact had Nixon contested the election, as
he was then being strongly urged to do, he undoubtedly
would have been bitterly assailed by liberals like Childs as
a sore loser and much worse.

Even Ted White has been forced to admit that perhaps
enough votes were stolen in Texas and Illinois to have
won the presidency for Kennedy. In his new book Breach
of Faith* which is about Nixon’s downfall, he states:
“Democratic vote-stealing had definitely taken place on
a massive scale in Illinois and Texas (where 100,000 big-
city votes were simply disqualified); and on a lesser scale
elsewhere.”

Whether Kennedy himself was directly involved in any
of the electoral skulduggery that produced his slim victory
has never been established. What has been established,
however, is that not only was he aware of what was going
on but he approved of it. Talk about impeachable offenses!

That there was skulduggery aplenty is clear from the
record. An avalanche of Democratic votes in Cook County,
held back until they were needed, allowed Kennedy to off-
set losses downstate and win a ballot-thin 8,585-vote
plurality in Illinois. Daley’s powerful machine employed
virtually every big-city trick to bolster the vote. These in-
cluded the usual spoiling of Republican ballots; the voting
of floaters and tombstones; and the tallying of “votes” of
those who had once lived on streets bulldozed out of
existence by urban renewal.

Until recently it was Daley who was' given the major
credit (or blame) for having helped Kennedy swing the
election. But now it develops that Mafia chief Sam “Momo”
Giancana may also have played a decisive role. Giancana,
who had awesome political power in Chicago and its en-
virons, had often boasted to Judith Campbell, the young

(New York: Atheneum, 1975).

58

VICTOR LASKY

lady whose charms he had shared with Kennedy, that he
used that power to elect Kennedy. “Listen, honey/’ he
told Judith, “if it wasn’t for me, your boyfriend wouldn’t
even be in the White House.” All of which puzzled the
young lady in question, since as she later chronicled, her
Mafia friend was always knocking the Kennedy family.
Among other things Giancana, who ought to have known,
described Joseph P. Kennedy as “one of the biggest crooks
who ever lived.” Yet for some reason Giancana gave or-
ders to the “boys” to assure Kennedy’s victory over Nixon.
Which may be one of the reasons why, despite some FBI
harassment, the strong-arm man led a somewhat charmed
life during the Kennedy years. Another reason, of course,
was his involvement with the CIA in the Kennedy-en-
dorsed plot to “snuff” Castro.

Without exception Chicago’s newspapers took the posi-
tion that, as the Tribune then put it, “the election of No-
vember 8 [1960] was characterized by such gross and
palpable fraud as to justify the conclusion that (Nixon)
was deprived of victory.”

Vote frauds in behalf of the Democratic ticket were
performed on an even grander -scale in Texas, where
Lyndon Johnson — JFK’s runningmate — ruled the roost.
Every phase of the state’s election machinery from precinct
tally clerk to the State Board of Canvassers was in the
hands of Organization (read LBJ) Democrats. So, con-
sidering the long, traditional history of vote-stealing in the
Lone Star State, what happened in 1960 was not too sur-
prising. The stuffing of ballot boxes reached a new high;
dozens of election machines in Republican precincts
jammed mysteriously; and tens of thousands of ballots dis-
appeared overnight. According to an eye-opening series of
articles published in the New York Herald-Tribune , a
minimum of 100,000 votes tallied for the Kennedy-John-
son ticket never existed in the first place. Yet despite all
this the ticket finally carried Texas by a slim margin of
46,000 votes.

Look magazine ran an article entitled “How to Steal an
Election,” which annoyed Kennedy. And no wonder. For
it said: “For the first time, many thousands of Americans
suddenly realized that elections can be stolen. They only
half-believed it before I960, as part of our historical

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 59

lore. . . . Many, many thousands of voters and civic minded
people in several leading states no longer take the easy-
going attitude toward election frauds.”

And in a foreword to Neal R. Pierce’s The People’s
President, published in 1968, New York Times columnist
Tom Wicker observed:

A shift of only 4,480 popular votes from Kennedy
to Nixon in Illinois, where there were highly plausible
charges of fraud [emphasis added] and 4,491 in
Missouri would have given neither man an electoral
majority and thrown the decision into the House of
Representatives. If an additional 1,148 votes had been
counted for Nixon in New Mexico, 58 from Hawaii,
and 1,247 in Nevada, he would have won an out-
right majority in the electoral college.

Wicker added: “Any experienced reporter or politician
knows that the few votes can easily be ‘swung’ in any
state by fraud or honest error.”

That the 1960 election results were more the product of
fraud than honest error was the position taken by J. Edgar
Hoover. And the FBI director made no bones about say-
ing so to such close friends as Philip Hochstein, then editor
of the Newark (NJ.) Star-Ledger.

Hochstein happened to be visiting Hoover the day after
President-elect Kennedy had announced Hoover’s reap-
pointment. As Hochstein recalled, Hoover was not too
happy. When the editor offered him congratulations on be-
ing reappointed, Hoover launched into a denunciation of
“election frauds” and exclaimed that, as far as he was
concerned, Kennedy “is not the President-elect.” Then
Hoover complained that he had not been “permitted” to
investigate the election frauds which had led to the theft
of the election from Nixon.

Hochstein asked who was preventing him from launching
such a full-scale probe, and Hoover replied: “Ike and
Nixon.”

Between themselves President Eisenhower and Vice
President Nixon had decided that, despite the closeness of
the election and the obvious irregularities that had oc-
curred, the nation’s welfare at a time of great troubles

60

VICTOR LASKY

abroad demanded that a new President be inaugurated
without a controversy that would divide the country.

That this was the case can be seen from what hap-
pened after the New York Herald-Tribune began publishing
a series of articles which contended that the election had
indeed been “stolen.” The articles were written by Earl
Mazo, who reported the mechanics of the gigantic rip-off
after first-hand investigations in Illinois and Texas. Twelve
pieces in all were scheduled for publication. After four of
them appeared, Nixon — then serving in his final weeks as
Vice President — asked Mazo to come over to see him.

Mazo, of course, had been aware that Nixon was being
besieged by outraged Republicans to contest the election.
He also knew that Nixon’s office was being inundated with
great amounts of new evidence concerning “irregularities”
in several states. Mazo therefore expected the Vice Presi-
dent to tell him that he had decided to contest the election,
as well as ask for a federally supervised probe of the chica-
nery that had cost him the election.

But that was not what Nixon had in mind. Much to
Mazo’s amazement the Vice President asked the correspon-
dent if it were possible for the Herald-Tribune to cease
publishing the articles. Since he felt the conversation was of
high historical import, Mazo put down all the details in a
memorandum for his personal files as soon as he returned
to his office.

In his memorandum, Mazo noted:

Right off, as we shook hands, Nixon said, “Earl,
those are interesting articles you are writing — but no
one steals the presidency of the United States.”

I thought he might be kidding. But never was a
man more deadly serious. We chatted for an hour or
two about the campaign, the odd vote patterns in var-
ious places, and this and that. Then, continent-by-
continent, he enumerated potential international crises
that could be dealt with only by the President of a
united country, and not a nation torn by the kind of
partisan bitterness and chaos that inevitably would
result from an official challenge of the election result.

At one point in the lengthy conversation, Nixon said:
“Our country can’t afford the agony of a Constitutional

crisis — and I damn well will not oe
ust to become President or anythin
Because of Nixon’s request the Hi
the remainder of the Mazo series.

Offers of money and lawyers to
a „ainst the 1960 results continued tc
Leonard W. Hall, who had^o-mat^
paign, recalls how Admiral Lewis Str
the 8 Atomic Energy Commission, said
ll^em Don't worry .bout the money

^Halfcarried that message to Nixon,
explaining the terrible damage that wt
American image abroad should he chall

A N ton also telephoned the ehito ot

News and Chicago Tribune— Basil L.

Maxwell respectively— and P kade ^ ^"

to end their editorial campaigns demai
the Cook County vote. Thus Nixon qv
rapidly growing movement that mig
whTL 8 feared 8 most-a
have led to the paralysis of the preside

great global unrest.

8 John Kennedy, at that t.mo, was not .<
ho was reallv “in” as President. The pa
reports that the Republicans might contes
that a lot of money was being raised 1
Kennedy then did what he always did
meTwith the man he had so narrow! _

tionably) beaten. Through ^ pranged. Kennedy flew
President Hoover a meeti 8 where N j xo n was va-

from Palm Beach to ey ^ a ’ £ter changing pleas-
cationing. According ^ tell who won the

r„n1dy;h?«£g much < h '“ W<m ' d b '

no contel. of his claim to House to

Later the President-elect went*, fee vr ^ ^ ^
confer with outgoing Presi Kenne dy , “had regarded

leS^'XSfn'in -he campaign and who had ap-

«!>»»= .he sr «> ~

— ir *

certainty of his election and thZ l ly reco 8 n,zi ng ‘he
to the bitter charges of’fraud^the h . eIp,ng . t0 P ut an end
and the threats of Southern iL™ w ? S for recounts
Probably the most ,nt» »• d ?“ dent elec tors.”
general unwillingness of tS' medt^to^ 001 1960 Was the
that the election had been “stolen” h th P I^5 sue allegations
a handful of newspapers (and th™ 7 he Democrats - Only
Republican persuasion) were ex c£ general, y of ‘he
story that could easily have devei*' ^ , e “ 0U8h *° look into a
biggest political crime “S ° De ab ° U * “ the

import than Watergate. entury, far greater in its

specifically The eZy oTk^lZes opinion ’ m ost

Post, played down the story A /for th^t I Washin 8 ton
they were too enraptured 5 ^ with tv, h . te,evisi0n networks,
inherent in a glamorous new h the . p,c t°rial possibilities
to the requirement Jf a ZZ admimstT * t ™> one attuned
Besides, most of the top televisi'on 8 '^^ t0 . show business,
little secret of their favodnaKen personaIltle s had made

first place. And some of them 7 ^ Nix ° n in the
to aid Kennedy whenever they could 6 Th* ° f . th ®' r Way
first televised “debate” between Kenn !f‘ T ^ US dunn S the
ti°n was asked by one of thA? dy ^ Nixon a ques *
though of little substantive value ^*™ n ' p f ne,ists which,
Preddent all through the campaign P ^ ^ Vice

admired o? Krane^ Th/ NBC°c Van ° Cur> an outspoken
been making a practice of n ,r ? P ° ndent ' who had
noted that Eisenhower had beef ^iiS^ P ° H * iCal focs >
ample of a major idea of yours that h ^ g ' Ve one ex '

”*■ ““ 1 * m -if

♦fN v ^ * migm

toward his successoTdfd R no7’ improve P m uch ?*’* ne8ative altitude
cupancy of the White House. Ike nL i? 1 $i nn * Kennedy’s oc-
and c °uld not understand his n . Ug i htJFK “extremely over-
Bobby Kennedy were expressed , n a, V^ - tke’s feelings about

It is difficult for me to see , sinoi^ C, 'rc dated March 26, 1968-
for the presidency. I think he is " hallow d '® c . aUon ‘ ha ‘ 'he man has
on top of which he is indecisive Yet hiT’J, ? nd unlr ustworthy—
is extraordinary. ...” attr action for many people

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 63

think of one.’ Now, that was a month ago, sir, and the
President hasn’t brought it up since, and I am wondering,
sir, if you can clarify . .

The day Eisenhower made the remark he phoned Nixon
to express his anger toward the way it was being interpreted
by the press. As Nixon wrote later, Eisenhower “pointed
out he was simply being facetious and yet they played it
straight and wrote it seriously. I could only reply to Van-
ocur’s question in the same vein, but I am sure that to
millions of unsophisticated televiewers, this question had
been most effective in raising a doubt in their minds with
regard to one of my strongest campaign themes and assets
— my experience as Vice President.”

What Nixon did not learn until later was that during at
least one debate, he was dealing with a stacked deck. One
of the newsmen-panelists had been in touch with Ken-
nedy’s managers. Questions which the Kennedy camp
wanted asked of Nixon were phoned to the newsman, who
had no qualms about asking them.

At the same time Kennedy’s advisers had unusual fa-
cilities for determining what kind of questions were likely
to be asked of the senator. As the Washington Star re-
ported, “In all four debates, the Senator was not asked a
single substantive question that had not been covered in
the briefing.” As a result JFK was rarely at a loss for
words.

Little was left to chance. Kennedy’s managers had also
taken the precaution of having one of their agents travel
constantly with the Vice President. Whenever Nixon
opened his mouth, whether it be in formal speeches or off-
the-cuff remarks, tape recordings would be made and
transmitted to the Democratic candidate. Kennedy spent
considerable time, prior to each debate, listening to these
tapes. His managers later claimed they helped put JFK in
a properly aggressive mood.

There were other times during the campaign when Nixon
never knew what hit him. Kennedy, for example, made a
big issue of the supposed decline of American prestige
abroad during the Eisenhower-Nixon years. Nixon re-
sponded by contending that U.S. prestige was at an all-
time high. Kennedy then challenged the Republican admin-
istration to make public surveys on the subject carried out
overseas by the United States Information Agency (USIA).

64

VICTOR LASKY

Nixon countered that these public opinion polls were
classified as confidential — which, in fact, they were.

That didn’t prevent the Kennedy camp from arranging
for their theft from the supposedly secret files of the USIA
and transmittal to Kennedy himself. As Ted Sorensen later
reported,

The polls strongly backed the Senator’s position and
made Nixon’s claims about them look like deliberate
misinformation. To avoid charges that he had im-
properly obtained classified material, Kennedy turned
the polls over to The New York Times , who im-
mediately printed them without mention of how they
had been acquired, and the Senator was then free to
quote them as official proof of our plummeting pres-
tige.

Needless to say, this “dirty trick” — then considered only
a bit of “upmanship” — did Kennedy no harm. Indeed it
helped eke out his eyelash victory in a down-to-the-wire
finish. Of course as President, Kennedy was not overly
anxious to release USIA “prestige” polls taken during his
administration.

SIX

In the late summer of 1963 Richard Nixon telephoned
* to thank me for having sent him a pre-publication copy of
my new book J.F.K.: The Man and the Myth , a critical
look at the life and record of the man who had bested him
for the presidency.

At the time Nixon lived in New York. He had come to
the Big Apple to seek his fortune after having been
trounced in his 1962 race for the governorship of Cali-
fornia.

.“That’s quite a book,” the former Vice President told
me. “I’ve just finished it and, frankly, I never knew what
bastards those Kennedys were.”

The remark puzzled me (and, for that matter, still does).
Was it possible that Nixon never really knew what he was
up against when he ran for President in 1960?

“Those fellows sure know how to play rough,” Nixon
went on.

And I couldn’t have agreed more. For that very morning
I had received a call from a Washington friend warning
that the Kennedys were out to “get” me for having written
that antagonistic book about the President. The friend, a
staff member of the Senate Internal Security Subcommittee,
reported that two of “Bobby’s boys” had been around look-
ing for derogatory material about me in the files. They
made one mistake, however, when they signed an official
request for the material. But more of this later.

I told Nixon about the call. He didn’t seem overly sur-
prised. He said he had had similar problems with the
Kennedys. Specifically, on his return to California follow-
ing his 1960 defeat, the man who lost the presidency by a
handful of votes found himself being audited by the In-
ternal Revenue Service. As did Robert H. Finch, one of his
1960 campaign managers. The experience wasn’t too

66 VICTOR LASKY

pleasant for either Nixon or Finch, involving as it did
a time-consuming search for documents of all kinds, but in
the end their tax returns were found to be in order.

Nixon said that others involved in his presidential cam-
paign had had similar experiences. “Oh, what the hell,” he
said, “it’s all part of the game, I guess.”

The Kennedys had long had an interest in the Internal
Revenue Service. For one thing the family was often
harassed during the Truman years for allegedly failing to
pay its proper share of taxes. Joseph P. Kennedy, the pater-
familias, had always blamed Truman for his woes. And
now, following Jack’s election to the White House, the
Kennedys felt that at long last the IRS was theirs.

In fact the very first day he took over as Kennedy’s new
IRS commissioner in 1961, Mortimer Caplin received a call
from a White House aide who said “it was the President’s
wish” that he immediately dismiss Donald Bacon as region-
al commissioner in Boston. Bacon, the White House aide
reported, was a “holdover Republican” who was creating
tax difficulties for any number of good, loyal Massachusetts
Democrats. Caplin, who had taught law at the University
of Virginia before becoming the nation’s chief tax collector,
thought there was something nonkosher about the request.
He checked into the Democrats being investigated in the
Bay State and found that they indeed were having tax
problems, but justifiably. Whereupon, according to Caplin,
he notified the President that he intended to retain the
“holdover Republican” in his job.

Caplin never did identify the aide who had called him
with the President’s request. Apparently it was Carmine
Bellino, who from the moment Kennedy entered the White
House was interested in developing tax information with
which to destroy the “political enemies” of the new ad-
ministration.

Bellino had been named special consultant to the Presi-
dent. Few around the White House ever knew what he was
up to. Those who did usually referred to him as a “trouble-
shooter.” But in post- Watergate terms he could more ac-
curately be described as a “hatchet man.”

And assisting Bellino in developing tax information
against Kennedy’s “enemies” was none other than Morti-
mer Caplin — a fact which emerged during the course of
the Senate Watergate hearings.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 67

The disclosure came about following the testimony of
John Dean, former counsel to President Nixon, that the
White House had sought to use the IRS to attack the ad-
ministration’s political enemies.

This was denied by John Ehrlichman, who cited a Senate
debate published in the April 16, 1970, Congressional
Record to demonstrate that procedures safeguarding the
privacy of tax returns were much stricter under Nixon
than under Kennedy in 1961.

“Six days after [Kennedy’s] inauguration,” Ehrlichman
testified, Bellino “called on the commissioner of Internal
Revenue and undertofik inspection of many, many tax re-
turns for days at a time.”

Ehrlichman also noted that from Nixon’s inauguration
up to the time of the 1970 Senate debate, the White
House had made only nine written requests to the IRS for
permission to view tax records. This contrasted sharply
with the Kennedy administration, during which Bellino
viewed tax records without written requests.

Caplin was not immediately available for comment re-
garding Ehrlichman’s allegations. However the Congres-
sional Record for April 16, 1970, did contain a memoran-
dum from JFK’s IRS commissioner stating that on January
26, 1961 — six days after the inauguration — Bellino had
shown up at his office to request “permission to inspect our
files” on an individual whose name had been excised
from the memo “and others.”

“Although we had no precedent to guide us,” the Caplin
memo went on, “we decided that Mr. Bellino, in his ca-
pacity as a representative of the President, could inspect
our files without a written request.”

Bellino’s response to the Ehrlichman revelations was that
he had every legal right to examine tax returns as part of
an official Justice Department investigation of labor racke-
teering, with particular emphasis on the Teamsters and its
then chief, Jimmy Hoffa. After all, Bellino added, having
been active in the Senate probe of labor racketeering in the
fifties, he was probably the one person most familiar with
the subject in the new administration. And that is why,
he said, the President authorized him to check certain tax
returns.

But the fact remains that Bellino was not part of the
Justice Department. He was a White House “consultant,”

68

VICTOR LASKY

the same title later given to E. Howard Hunt during the
Nixon years.

As far as the Watergate hearings were concerned, the
matter raised by Ehrlichman was left hanging. Sam Ervin,
who had become a folk hero exposing the malefactions of
the Nixon administration, wanted no part of looking into
the excesses of the past — particularly the Democratic past.

What we now know, thanks again to Ben Bradlee, was
the enormous interest shown by President Kennedy in
other people’s tax returns. For example Kennedy “stunned”
Bradlee at the dinner table one night by revealing that J.
Paul Getty, reputedly the richest man in the world, had
paid exactly $500 in income taxes the previous year, while
H. L. Hunt, the oil tycoon, forked over only $22,000 to
IRS.

Bradlee, needless to say, did not think it politic to inquire
how or why the President happened to be carrying such
precise data in his head. Obviously Kennedy had made
some effort to acquire the information, planning to make
some practical use of it. Exactly what he had in mind we
probably will never know. A month later he was dead.

But Bradlee did ask the President just how much Daniel
Ludwig, the shipbuilding magnate, had paid in tax. Bradlee
had been cruising with Kennedy when they noticed that a
yacht owned by Ludwig had failed to turn out its crew to
salute the President, a fact which seemed to annoy Ken-
nedy. (Talk about the Imperial presidency!)

Kennedy smiled at Bradlee’s question but didn’t bite.
He pointed out that “all this tax information was secret,
and it was probably illegal for him to know or at least for
him to tell me.” But Bradlee pressed on, suggesting that
JFK leaks IRS data on rich men’s returns in order to get
a tax reform bill through the Congress.

“Maybe after 1964,” replied Kennedy.

Much has been made of the practice of the IRS during
thd'Nixon years of urging special investigations of student
protesters, Black militants, outright subversives, and any-
one who was financing them.

But the practice of using the IRS for political purposes
did not start with Nixon. In the fall of 1961, at the behest
of the Kennedy brothers, the targets were mainly tax-
exempt right-wing groups whose cries of outrage were
patently ignored by liberal groups which normally favor

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 69

the right to dissent. In some cases liberal groups actively
promoted the harassment, if not destruction, of ultra-con-
servative voices which the media had labeled “kooky.” Un-
doubtedly some of them were. But none of the organiza-
tions harassed by the Kennedys advocated bomb-throwing,
rioting, or outright revolution.

The campaign to crush right-wing dissent had its origins
in a twenty-four-page memorandum written by Victor
Reuther of the United Automobile Workers. Transmitted
to Robert Kennedy, the memorandum urged the use of
federal agencies to head off and dry up conservative critics
of the administration. The Attorney General liked it so
much that he circulated copies to key members of the ad-
ministration and sympathetic congressmen.

Reuther, a longtime mover and shaker in liberal causes
(including, believe it or not, civil liberties), began his re-
pressive document by noting that President Kennedy had
made several speeches attacking the “radical right” as a
pernicious influence in American politics. He argued that
such talk was not good enough. What was needed was
governmental action. And he named as targets a host of or-
ganizations and individuals. Included were such groups as
the John Birch Society, Dr. Fred Schwarz’s Christian Anti-
Communist Crusade, and H. L. Hunt’s “Life Lines.” In-
dividuals named by Reuther included the Reverend Billy
James Hargis, and Senators Strom Thurmond and Barry
Goldwater, among many others.

Concerning these ideological misfits the Reuther mem-
orandum said: “What are needed are deliberate policies
and programs to contain the radical right from further
expansion and in the long run to reduce it to its historic role
of the impotent lunatic fringe . . . they must never be
permitted to become so strong as to obstruct action needed
for democratic survival and success.”

Reuther then suggested various punitive measures, in-
cluding the placing of the right-wing dissenters on the At-
torney General’s list of subversive organizations. “The mere
act of indicating that an investigation will be made will
certainly bring home to many people something they have
never considered — the subversive character of these or-
ganizations and their similarity to the listed groups on the
left.”

Reuther also proposed that “the flow of big money to

70

VICTOR LASKY

the radical right should be dammed to the extent possible,”
urging that such organizations as the William Volker
Fund, Dr. George Benson’s National Education Program,
and the Christian Anti-Communist Crusade should be de-
prived of their tax-exempt status. “Prompt revocation in a
few cases might scare off a substantial part of the big
money now flowing into these tax-exempt organizations.”
Moreover there was “the big question whether Schwarz,
Hargis, etc., are themselves complying with the tax laws.”
Reuther said there was enough evidence to justify “the
most complete check on these various means of financing
the radical right.”

Though the existence of the memorandum was known
to the Washington press corps, the interest was minimal.
In fact I was the first to “break” the story in my North
American Newspaper Alliance column. No one, outside of
a few of those affected by this would-be assault on the Con-
stitution and the freedoms of the American people, really
cared. No Senate committee was created to look into the
matter. As always it was a case of whose ox was gored.

President Kennedy soon mouthed the Reuther line. In
reply to a question at a press conference, he said that the
federal government ought to be concerned if tax-exempt
money was being diverted to nonexempt purposes. This
was a reference to the law which sets strict limitations on
the direct political activities that may be engaged in by
tax-exempt organizations.

According to a staff report prepared for the Joint Com-
mittee on Internal Revenue Taxation,* this comment was
followed up by an inquiry to Mitchell Rogovin, then as-
sistant to the IRS commissioner, from John Siegenthaler,
then an assistant to Attorney General Kennedy. Siegen-
thaler, a former investigative reporter, asked about the tax-
exempt status of four or five organizations generally con-
sidered to be right-wing, according to the report. That in-
formation was quickly supplied.

Rogovin himself supplied a list of eighteen organiza-
tions for investigation, the names of which he claimed to

* Investigation of the Special Service Staff of the Internal Revenue
Service , Prepared for the Joint Committee on Internal Revenue
Taxation By Its Staff, June 5, 1975 (Washington, D.C.: Government
Printing Office, 1975).

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 71

have gathered from articles in Time and Newsweek .* An
audit of most of them was begun almost immediately. At
the same time the regional IRS commissioners in New
York and San Francisco were ordered to launch examina-
tions of “six large corporate taxpayers” who were alleged
to be financial backers of “extremist groups.”

At this early stage the program appeared to be focused
entirely on right-wing organizations. Concern was ex-
pressed about this pronounced ideological bias. Rogovin
therefore sent over a list of what he described as “alleged
left of center” organizations for investigation. Since he had
difficulty obtaining the names of such organizations, Rog-
ovin thinks he may have asked the FBI for help.

Mortimer Caplin, who was then Commissioner of In-
ternal Revenue, made reports on the progress of the in-
vestigation of “ideological organizations” not only to his
superior in the Treasury Department, Undersecretary
Henry Fowler, but also to Myer Feldman, a member of
the White House staff, and to Attorney General Kennedy.

By the summer of 1963 the investigation apparently
dwindled to a state of complete inactivity — so much so that
there were renewed demands for action on the part of
liberal spokesmen. Senator Maurine Neuberger, for exam-
ple, speaking before the AFL-CIO’s Committee on Political
Education, demanded the cancellation of tax exemptions of
conservative organizations, including the most scholarly. “It
is painfully clear,” the Oregon Democrat said, “that the tax
service has simply not done the job Congress gave it, to
rout out the propagandists from the bona fide educators.”

On July 5, 1963, Feldman, then deputy special counsel
to the President, requested a report from Caplin on the
progress of the investigation. By this time the revocation -
of the exempt status of two right-wing organizations had
been recommended and another had been warned that the
IRS intended to revoke its exemption.

•On leaving government, Rogovin became one of Washington’s
better-known civil liberties lawyers. He represented various individuals
and organizations in legal actions stemming from alleged harassment
during the Nixon administration, but was forced to withdraw as
general counsel of Common Cause and the Institute for Policy
Studies (a leftist think tank) when — surprisingly — he agreed to act
as outside counsel for the beleaguered CIA in 1975.

72

VICTOR LASKY

Apparently that wasn’t good enough for the White
House. For President Kennedy himself got on the phone
and told Caplin that he wanted the IRS “to go ahead with
(an) aggressive program — on both sides of center.” By this
time JFK had become terribly annoyed with left-wingers
who were badgering him not only for his anti-Castro ac-
tivities but for his intervention in Vietnam.

Caplin later told congressional investigators that he
thought Kennedy had called him “because Mr. Feldman
might have thought that the Service was dragging its feet
and was not aggressive enough.”

Within the week Rogovin met with Feldman at the
White House. The purpose was to bring the White House
up to date on the anti-extremist program. At another
meeting a month later, Feldman suggested the deletion of
two organizations — one left-wing and one right-wing —
from the list under study. This was promptly arranged.

At about the same time Rogovin met with Robert Ken-
nedy to brief the Attorney General on the status of the
project. Kennedy recommended “expediting” the investiga-
tion of one right-wing group. This too was done. The
group’s tax-exempt status was subsequently lifted.

A task force which was set up following these various
meetings finally recommended revocation of the exempt
status of fifteen organizations, all but one of which could
be described as right-wing.

The irony is that the IRS witch-hunt, particularly as it
was concentrated against right-wing dissenters, was ap-
plauded by the very same people who later were to raise
unshirted hell when the Nixon administration sought to
use the same techniques to “contain” — in Reuther’s word —
the Black Panthers, the Weathermen, and other violence-
prone New Left groups.

The Kennedy administration also decided to go after
its right-wing critics in the broadcast media. Reuther had
noted the increasing use of conservative commentaries on
the airwaves. And his memorandum suggested that the IRS
be instructed to check into the business sponsorship of
these programs. Observing that the broadcasts invariably
lambasted Kennedy and his “liberal” policies, Reuther
also proposed that the Federal Communications Com-
mission conduct an investigation “into the extent of the
practice of giving free time to the radical right,” as well

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 73

as the possibility of taking “measures to encourage sta-
tions to assign comparable time for an opposing point of
view on a free basis.” In other words Reuther wanted the
FCC to enforce the “fairness doctrine” against right-wing
commentators.

The fairness of the FCC’s “fairness doctrine” came
under strong attack in early 1975 with the disclosure that
the Kennedy and Johnson administrations had used the
rule to stifle radio attacks during the 1964 presidential
campaign.

The disclosure was contained in The Good Guys , the Bad
Guys and the First Amendment , written by Fred W.
Friendly — Edward R. Murrow Professor at the Columbia
Graduate School of Journalism, a Ford Foundation ad-
viser, and former president of CBS News.*

Friendly focused on the 1969 Supreme Court decision
which upheld the right of the FCC to order a broadcaster
to grant reply time to a person or group claiming to have
suffered from a broadcast. Digging into the tangled back-
ground of the case, Friendly discovered that the decision
was “tainted.”

What had happened back in the New Frontier was this,
according to Friendly: Since “Kennedy and the Demo-
cratic National Committee believed that the Republicans
might nominate Goldwater and that the right-wing radio
commentators who supported him could damage the Presi-
dent’s chances for re-election,” the White House “decided
to see if the fairness doctrine could again be used, this time
for partisan political purposes.”

According to Friendly, the Democrats created and main-
tained professionally staffed organizations that monitored
stations carrying right-wing commentary and then de-
manded time for reply. The White House was particularly
anxious to blunt broadcasters critical of such administra-
tion goals as the nuclear test ban treaty. These demands for
equal time, which stations would have to provide gratis,
were regarded by most of their executives as harassments
they’d rather avoid. This many of them did, either by
dropping the commentaries or by censoring them.

•An excerpt from the book was published as an article in The New
York Times Magazine , March 30, 1975. The book itself was pub-
lished by Random House in 1976.

74

VICTOR LASKY

It was a conspiracy, pure and simple; one which was
aimed at curbing free expression. And, according to
Friendly, it led right to the door of the Oval Office. For
directing the campaign aimed at curbing dissent was none
other than Kenneth P. O’Donnell who, as White House ap-
pointments secretary, troubleshooter, and expediter, was
considered to be Kennedy’s political right-hand.* At a meet-
ing in the Fish Room O’Donnell instructed Wayne Phillips,
a former New York Times reporter then working for the
Housing and Home Finance Agency, to check whether
the fairness doctrine could be used in behalf of the
President’s reelection campaign. Whereupon Phillips hired
Wesley McCune, a specialist who kept track of right-
wingers and their organizations, to monitor commentators.
As a result of McCune’s efforts the Democrats were able to
reply quickly to hundreds of broadcasts — for free.

The success of this venture convinced the Democratic
National Committee that it had a good thing going. Not
only was the DNC getting a lot of free time, but its covert
campaign — as one of its former officials told Friendly —
succeeded in inhibiting many right-wing stations. A “con-
fidential” DNC memorandum put it this way:

The right-wingers operate on a strictly cash basis and
it is for this reason that they are carried by so many
small stations. Were our efforts to be continued on a
year-round basis, we would find that many of these
stations would consider the broadcast of these pro-
grams bothersome and burdensome (especially if they
are ultimately required to give us free time) and
would start dropping the programs from their broad-
cast schedule.

So the DNC decided to expand. It retained the public
relations firm of Ruder & Finn, which in turn set up a
phony committee, seemingly divorced from the Dem-
ocratic party but actually financed by it. This was done
through a system of “laundering” party funds for the pur-
pose of deception.

•Years later President Nixon’s appointments secretary, Dwight
Chapin, hired a college chum, Donald Segretti, to play silly pranks
on the Democrats. But Chapin, unlike O’Donnell, got caught at it.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 75

The phony committee was supposedly bipartisan. It was
given a fancy title — The National Council for Civic Re-
sponsibility. Selected as its head was a liberal Republican,
Arthur Larson, who had served as director of the United
States Information Agency under Eisenhower. Larson, who
was sincerely alarmed at what he considered the growing
influence of “radical reactionary organizations” (talk about
name calling), apparently was not aware that the National
Council was an undercover parapolitical operation of the
Democratic party.

At least Larson gave that impression on the eve of the
1964 election. Asked whether his organization was in-
volved with any political party, Larson said: “No, this is
completely divorced from political parties because neither
President Johnson nor General Eisenhower nor anybody
connected with the political campaign was aware that this
organization was about to be formed.”

Of course Larson now knows better.

Several hundred distinguished Americans gladly gave
their names as sponsors of the new supposedly nonpartisan
group. They included Marion B. Folsom, former member
of the Eisenhower cabinet; General J. Lawton Collins,
former army chief of staff; Detlev Bronk, president of
Rockefeller Institute; Erwin Griswold, dean of Harvard
Law School; Robert B. Meyner, former Democratic gov-
ernor of New Jersey; and Ralph McGill, publisher of the
Atlanta Constitution .

The National Council for Civic Responsibility had been
formed too quickly to obtain a tax-exempt status. So the
Democrats arranged to combine it with the Public Affairs
Institute headed by H. Dewey Anderson. This was a pre-
Nader type of “citizen’s lobby,” more or less defunct,
which had one charm from the Democrats* viewpoint — it
had tax exemption. Thus the National Council was per-
mitted to solicit tax-deductible contributions. The biggest
donation, however, was a fat $50,000 check from the
Democratic National Committee. Later the DNC sent over
additional thousands of dollars in cash.

According to Friendly, Dewey Anderson had been con-
tacted by James H. Rowe, a Washington lawyer closely
associated with Democratic presidents from Roosevelt to
Johnson. Rowe asked Anderson to meet privately at the
offices of the Democratic National Committee with Chair-

76

VICTOR LASKY

man John Bailey and Treasurer Richard Maguire, an old
JFK hand from Massachusetts.

“We got the money and you got the tax exemption and
we need you to fight these right-wing radio extremists,”
Anderson recalls Bailey and Rowe telling him. Anderson
was only too happy to cooperate. Voild . What had been
known as the National Council for Civic Responsibility be-
came the National Committee for Civic Responsibility of
the Public Affairs Institute. The tax-exempt status, of
course, meant not only that contributions could be writ-
ten off but that the taxpayer, in the final analysis, was pay-
ing for a partisan political effort.

Needless to say, this amounted to a political dirty trick
of gigantic proportions — and one that violated a law
which, incidentally, had been introduced in 1954 by none
other than then Senator Lyndon Johnson.

But prior to Watergate, dirty tricks were an accepted
practice in political life and no one paid too much atten-
tion. The National Committee obtained considerable media
coverage. Only one reporter, Jack Anderson, exposed the
fact that the Civic Responsibility group had been covertly
financed with Democratic funds; but this was four months
after the election, and no one seemed to care. Once LBJ
was elected, the Democrats lost interest in subsidizing a
campaign to expose the villainous right-wingers who, only
months before, had constituted such a potent threat to
American freedom. These “sleazy and seamy activities,” as
Dewey Anderson more recently described them, went
thoroughly unnoticed by the same news media which years
later were to go ape over every sordid Watergate detail.

Larson himself feels sheepish about his participation in
this pre-Watergate-type activity. “The whole thing was not
my idea,” he told Friendly, “but let’s face it, we decided
to use radio and the fairness doctrine to harass the extreme
right. In the light of Watergate, it was wrong. We felt the
ends justified the means. They never do. I guess I was like a
babe in the woods.”

An estimated $200,000 in tax-exempt funds was raised by
the Larson group. To counteract right-wing broadcasts, the
national committee produced its own series of radio pro-
grams, described by Friendly as “as shrill as those they
were designed to counter.” The researcher was a free-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 77

lance writer, Fred Cook, who was paid by Ruder & Finn.
In addition Cook was subsidized by the Democratic Na-
tional Committee to write a book on the 1964 Republican
candidate for President entitled Goldwater: Extremist of
the Right.* Also at the behest of Wayne Phillips, now an
official at the Democratic National Committee, Cook wrote
an article for The Nation entitled “Hate Groups of the
Air,” about right-wing extremists supposedly dominating
the airwaves. Much of the research for The Nation article
was provided by Wesley McCune.

The Reverend Billy James Hargis, who bought time on
stations for his daily “Christian Crusade” broadcasts, taped
a two-minute reply to Cook, terming him a “professional
mudslinger” for his Goldwater book as well as his article
for The Nation. In addition Hargis accused Cook of
dishonesty, of falsifying stories, and of having written a
book defending Alger Hiss. In so doing, Hargis provided
an inexact account of how Cook came to lose his job at
the New York World-Telegram & Sun in 1959.

One of the stations carrying the Hargis broadcast was
WGCB, located in Red Lion, Pennsylvania. Cook de-
manded that the station grant him equal time to reply. The
tiny station refused, saying in effect that if Cook wanted
to broadcast over its facilities he would have to pay for
the time. Cook then took the matter to the FCC, which
ruled in his favor under the fairness doctrine. Eventually
the matter went to the Supreme Court, which upheld the
ruling. The Red Lion case became historic because, as
Fred Friendly pointed out, the court’s unanimous ruling
established “the power of government to intervene directly
in the content of broadcasting.”

But, as Friendly also noted, Cook did not bring his ac-
tion against WGCB simply as “an offended private citizen.”
Cook was a participant in White House efforts to suppress

*By coincidence Fred Cook sat behind me on the rewrite battery of
the now defunct New York World-Telegram & Sun. Also by coin-
cidence, as Fred Friendly noted in his Times article, the technique
used to bring out the Cook book was “similar to Laurence Rocke-
feller’s financing of the Victor Lasky book critical of former
Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg.” With one difference, how-
ever. At the time I did not know that Laurence Rockefeller was my
patron.

78

VICTOR LASKY

right-wing voices — a fact not known either by the FCC or
the Supreme Court when the Red Lion case was being ad-
judicated.

Henry Geller, the FCC general counsel who wrote the
decision upholding Cook’s right of reply, termed the
startling information uncovered by Friendly “alarming,”
and said he would have written the rules differently had
he known how the Red Lion case came about.

Billy James Hargis, whose stations began dropping him
“by the dozens” because of the organized requests for free
time, observed: “I had said all along there was a cam-
paign by the White House to get me, but no one in the
press would listen to me or believe me.”

And there is no doubt, as Friendly quotes a former
Ruder & Finn executive who handled the clandestine White
House operation, that “if we did in 1974 what we did in
1964, we’d be answering questions before some Con-
gressional Committee” — and, it could be added, probably
before old “Maximum John.”

“But,” as columnist William F. Buckley, Jr., observed,
“one hopes that the liberal moralist on night-duty for the
Establishment will take the time to express an appropriate
shame and contrition over the hypocrisy, deception, and
unlawfulness of the Democratic Creeps of ten years ago.”
That will be the day.

SEVEN

It is a curious fact, though one that many observers still re-
fuse to accept, that in many of the offenses that occurred
in the Watergate era John Kennedy clearly anticipated
Richard Nixon. Kennedy, too, talked about “getting” his
enemies. “Don’t get mad, get even,” was the well-known
watchword along the New Frontier. And people who
worked for the Kennedys formed a cadre of “do-anything-
for-the-boss” loyalists — an “Irish Mafia,” as they were
called, antedating the clumsier “German Mafia” that at-
tained such disrepute under Nixon.

Kennedy and his top aides, in particular, liked to think
of themselves as being “tough” and “hardnosed,” terms
that were considered compliments in the Camelot era. Thus
at the height of the 1962 steel crisis Kennedy told Ben
Bradlee that the major companies “fucked us, and we’ve
got to fuck them.” (Kennedy’s use of the four-letter word
and its declensions so popular among the young was most
prolific.)

Like the two presidents who succeeded him, Kennedy
was obsessed with the press. What made his obsession so
ludicrous, however, was that, better than most other chief
executives, he had won over a media which for the most
part was entranced with his grace and style. And even
today, because of the trauma of his untimely death, a
mythic glow protects his memory. Or as Joe Flaherty put
it in The Village Voice , “When one thinks of Kennedy’s
sins, the transgressions are muted by memories of his
elan.”

Kennedy was expert at “using” the media. Most revealing
was a memo found in his handwriting at the Kennedy Li-
brary in Waltham, Massachusetts. Dated October 22, 1962,
the memo concerned the Cuban missile crisis. Addressed
to his staff, it read: “Is there a plan to brief and brain-

80

VICTOR LASKY

wash key press within twelve hours or so?” There followed
a list of those to be “brainwashed”: The New York Times ,
Walter Lippmann, Marquis Childs, Joseph Alsop, and “key
bureau chiefs.”*

The harsh fact remains that Kennedy hated to be
criticized and, on occasion, he would, like Nixon after
him, let off steam by voicing bravura threats of retaliation.
In his book The Politics of Lying David Wise tells the
little-known story of how Kennedy, displeased with an
NBC-TV news treatment of his handling of the steel crisis,
phoned FCC Chairman Newton Minow, saying: “Did you
see that goddamn thing on Huntley-Brinkley? I thought
they were supposed to be our friends. I want you to do
something about that. You do something about that.”

Fortunately, Minow did nothing. Instead he phoned Ken
O’Donnell the next day to say, “Just tell the President he’s
very lucky he has an FCC chairman who doesn’t do what
the President tells him.”

On another occasion a Fischetti cartoon caused an ex-
plosion in the President’s suite at the Carlyle Hotel in New
York. Published on the front page of the New York
Herald-Tribune, it pictured press secretary Pierre Salinger,
just returned from Moscow, as telling Kennedy, “Mr. Khru-
shchev said he liked your style in the steel crisis.”

At 7:30 a. m. the phone rang in the hotel room occupied
by Dave Wise, the Tribune' s White House correspondent.
“I just wanted you to know the President’s reaction to this
morning’s Herald-Tribune Salinger told a startled Wise.
“The fucking Herald-Tribune is at it again.” And, Salinger
added, the President would very much appreciate it if Wise
would personally so inform his publisher John Hay Whit-
ney. Which Wise did, much to “Jock” Whitney’s discom-
fiture.

Back in Washington later a still steaming Kennedy or-
dered the cancellation of all twenty-two White House sub-
scriptions to the Herald-Tribune . And Salinger let it be

♦The memo was among nearly 100,000 Kennedy papers made public
in January 1974. Some years later when staff members of the Senate
Intelligence Committee visited the Library, according to William
Satire, “suspicious gaps were, discovered in the telephone logs of the
President’s calls. Nor was there any record of a private telephone,
installed in a tiny room just off the Oval Office, where Kennedy
made private calls outside the White House switchboard.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 81

known that the President had a dramatic purpose in mind
— namely, to call attention to the double standard em-
ployed by the “once-respected” Trib in its free-wheeling
coverage of the Democratic scandals involving Billy Sol
Estes, while taking a more nonchalant approach toward a
then current Senate probe into alleged hanky-panky of
Eisenhower administration figures. “And those bastards
didn’t have a line on it,” Kennedy told Bradlee. “We read
enough shit. We just don’t have to read that particular
brand.”

The banning of the Tribune backfired. Even normally
friendly sources noted that the President not only can-
celed his own subscription, but twenty-one others, leaving
the impression that he was deciding the reading habits of
his associates. “‘President Kennedy,” observed the late
Robert G. Spivack, “grimly believes in the right to dis-
sent. In fact, he will tell you what you can dissent about.”

Later the White House leaked the story that the Trib's
banishment was actually the work of an “overzealous” aide
rather than the President’s, but that hardly squares with
accounts of the incident published by insiders Schlesinger,
Sorensen, and Bradlee. The truth is Kennedy despised the
Herald-Tribune , believing that its publisher was keeping it
alive in order to help Rockefeller’s presidential chances in
1964 .

Obviously Kennedy was no stranger to the concept of an
enemies list — or what he less elegantly called a “shit list” —
and surprisingly, of all people, Ben Bradlee once found
himself on it. “Benjy” felt Kennedy’s icy scorn after he
talked too freely to Fletcher Knebel, who was writing a
piece entitled “Kennedy vs. The Press” for Look mag-
azine. In the piece Bradlee was quoted as saying of the
Kennedy brothers, “It’s almost impossible to write a story
they like. Even if a story is quite favorable to their side,
they’ll find one paragraph to quibble with.”

That did it. For several months Benjy lived in virtual
purgatory. No longer did he hear from the President. No
longer was he invited over to the White House for dinner
and those oh-so-intimate conversations. He knew he had
done the unpardonable — he had criticized the Kennedys.
Finally from out of the blue Kennedy called. The “exile”
was over. And once again Benjy was a happy man.

Despite his closeness to JFK, Bradlee is convinced to this

82

VICTOR LASKY

day that he had been wiretapped by the Kennedys. “My
God,” he told me, “they wiretapped practically everyone
else in this town.”*

And Bradlee knew what he was talking about. The Ken-
nedys’ predilection for listening in on other people’s pri-
vate conversations constituted seminal work in this field.
They established a record in the number of wiretaps, both
authorized and unauthorized, that has yet to be equaled.
Not even the Nixon administration topped them.

In fact Kennedy delighted in joking about this. Again
we turn to Bradlee for the evidence. It seems that dur-
ing the steel crisis, the President toasted Attorney General
Kennedy at a dinner party. In so doing he referred to a
phone conversation he had had with Thomas F. Patton of
Republic Steel.

Patton had complained that Bobby was wiretapping steel
executives and harrassing them through the IRS. The
President assured Patton that the Attorney General would
never do any such thing.

“And of course,” the President said in closing, “Patton
was right.”

At that point Bobby rose and yelled in mock anger,
“They were mean to my brother. They can’t do that to
my brother.”

Which, of course, meant that the administration — with
the President’s knowledge and approval — had indeed been
harassing executives who had the temerity to raise steel
prices. In view of Bradlee’s later preoccupation with presi-
dential abuses of power, it is instructive to note that the
future executive editor of the Washington Post apparently
saw nothing wrong with such behavior. For one thing he
did not expose these serious violations of civil liberties. In
fact even now Benjy appears to treat the whole episode in
a humorous vein.

Not everyone in the press corps was amused by such
goings-on. Hanson Baldwin, for one, shook up the Oval
Office by denouncing Kennedy (in an article in the April
1963 issue of Atlantic) for using intimidation as a weapon.

♦My conversation with Bradlee took place outside the Watergate
apartments, where we both lived, the weekend following Nixon’s
resignation. I had begun the chat by remarking, “Well, you finally
did it. You ‘got’ the President.” Bradlee countered by saying I was
wrong. “Nixon did it to himself,” he said.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 83

Baldwin, then military affairs analyst of The New York
Times , charged that “the blatant methods used by the Ad-
ministration and its tampering with the news deserve con-
siderably more criticism and discussion than they have re-
ceived.”

Kennedy told Bradlee that the reason for Baldwin’s
disenchantment was that, in some article, he had com-
mitted a “major security violation” which, in turn, had
led to a ‘“massive FBI investigation.” Significantly Bradlee
did nothing to sound the tocsin about this obvious viola-
tion of the First Amendment. Of course in years to come
Bradlee was to become more vigilant about such viola-
tions.

What the President apparently did not tell Benjy, how-
ever, was the fact that his brother had ordered the FBI to
wiretap both Baldwin and his secretary, not only at their
New York Times offices but at their homes. Or that a year
before, in 1961, a tap had been placed on one of Bradlee’s
colleagues, Lloyd Norman, then Newsweek ' s Pentagon cor-
respondent.

Bradlee, of course, had suspected that a lot of this sort
of thing was going on, but it wasn’t until a decade later
that he learned the full extent of Kennedy wiretapping.

Also among those wiretapped was French-born Pro-
fessor Bernard Fall of Howard University, who had written
numerous books on Indochina and had reportedly main-
tained close contact with representatives of North Viet-
nam.

Another was Robert Amory, Jr., a top CIA official who
was a close friend of the President. The allegation at the
time was that Amory was friendly with an East European
diplomat believed to be an undercover intelligence agent.

Most of these taps may have been said to have a “nation-
al security” purpose, but a number could hardly be so
described. Within months of his becoming Attorney Gen-
eral, for example, Robert Kennedy authorized FBI wire-
taps in a wide-ranging investigation of sugar lobbying in
behalf of the Dominican Republic and other countries.
Among six individuals whose phones were tapped was
Christine Gallagher, then chief clerk of the House Agri-
culture Committee and secretary to Committee Chairman
Harold Cooley of North Carolina. A bug was placed in the
New York hotel room where Cooley was to meet foreign

84

VICTOR LASKY

officials, and Robert Kennedy received FBI reports on in-
formation so obtained. Also tapped were three officials of
the Agriculture Department, as well as the law firm of
Surrey & Karasik, which represented Dominican sugar in-
terests. The investigation went on for over a year but
never produced an indictment.

And following the 1964 publication , of a seventy-one
page pamphlet, The Strange Death of Marilyn Monroe ,
which suggested that the death of the actress was not the
result of suicide but of murder, its right-wing author Frank
A. Capell was subjected to a wiretap authorized by Ken-
nedy’s successor as Attorney General, Nicholas D. Katzen-
bach. Needless to say, this could hardly have been con-
sidered a “national security” matter.

As Richard Nixon was later to note, JFK initiated far
more taps than he did (as many as 100, said Nixon), and
Kennedy didn’t even have a war on his hands.

Electronic surveillance was ordered by the Kennedys
during the searing controversy over Moise Tshombe and
his efforts to have the copper-rich Katanga Province secede
from what then was the former Belgian Congo. The Ken-
nedys opposed secession, and the issue became a hot one as
Republican critics claimed the President was involving him-
self in something that was none of his business.

Carl T. Rowan, then in the State Department, recalled
recently a speech he delivered in Philadelphia

that turned out to be ultra-controversial because I
talked about the large amounts of money being spent
to sway U.S. congressmen and others by Tshombe’s
U.S. lobbyist, Michel Streulens. It has never been
revealed how I could make the charges with such con-
fidence. The simple fact is that the State Department
had regular access to Streulens’s bank records and
knew on whom he was spending his substantial ex-
pense account.

Furthermore, there were daily reports on what
Streulens and Tshombe said to each other via telex.
I assumed — correctly — that someone in our govern-
ment was monitoring.

This inside information gave the Kennedy Admin-
istration and the State Department considerable ad-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 85

vantage in the bruising domestic debate that raged for
months.

Apparently Rowan has had second thoughts about all of
this. For, in a recent column, he asked:

“Did ‘national security’ justify some bank giving the
government, without subpoena or other process of law,
records of Streulens’s expenditures? Did some overriding
national interest justify the monitoring of Streulens’s telex
messages? Answers to those questions will not come easy to
many Americans.”

Hanson Baldwin’s article in the Atlantic was an impor-
tant one. Typically it was generally overlooked in the age
of Camelot. Though he did not describe his own unpleasant
experiences with the FBI, he did say that the free-wheeling
use of federal cops to investigate leaks had grown to menac-
ing proportions. He claimed that some of the most re-
spected reporters in Washington had experienced “the treat-
ment,” which included FBI visits to their homes, tapping of
their phones, shadowing of reporters, investigations of their
friendships, and other forms of intimidation. “In all these
cases the newsmen concerned have told the FBI in effect
that their sources were their business,” Baldwin reported.

. . These investigations have ranged throughout the
Pentagon, the State Department, and other executive
branches of government. And Mr. Kennedy has been the
first President to send the FBI into the Pentagon, supersed-
ing the services’ own investigative and internal security
agencies.”

At the same time Kennedy had no compunction about
trying to get correspondents fired by calling their publish-
ers. He did this in the case of David Halberstam, whose
reports on Vietnam to The New York Times infuriated the
President. As far as can be determined, this was another
of JFK’s “historic firsts.”

For the most part the media allowed this extraordinary
state of affairs to continue with little criticism. The Brad-
lees and others, who years later were to take the lead
in bringing down a President for abusing his powers, said
nothing — at least publicly — about such abuses when com-
mitted by the Kennedys.

Exactly how much wiretapping went on within the White

86

VICTOR LASKY

House itself has never been fully determined. But apparent-
ly it was widespread. Years later when Watergate broke
wide open, Brigadier General Godfrey McHugh, Kennedy’s
air force aide, was quoted by Betty Beale as saying: “When
I was in the White House, my phone was bugged all the
time. Everybody’s was. The FBI men would even come
to the office and play back something I said on the phone
and ask if it wasn’t classified. I would tell them, ‘No, I
was discussing a story that had already appeared in the
newspaper.’ A few days later they would be back to ask
about another comment — because they didn’t keep up with
the number of newspapers we had to read.”

The Kennedys’ use of the FBI to do their dirty work ex-
tended to the flap over steel prices in the spring of 1962.
FBI agents were dispatched in the middle of the night to
interview reporters on their published accounts of inter-
views with steel executives. Max Lerner found the episode
“distasteful” and smacking of a “police operation,” while
the Richmond (Va.) Times-Dispatch described it as an
“indefensible abuse of personal power by a hired public
servant” — meaning Bobby Kennedy.

Bobby, of course, was the enforcer in his brother’s ad-
ministration. He was the tough guy, who had few com-
punctions about using threats to silence political opponents.
There was the occasion he called in Earl Mazo of the
New York Herald-Tribune . Mazo had written a series of
articles about Texas’s wheeler-dealer Billie Sol Estes and
his financially profitable, though questionable, ties with the
New Frontier.

According to Mazo, Bobby “blew his stack” in denounc-
ing him. On his desk Bobby had placed a thick folder
conspicuously marked with Mazo’s name. It was obvious
that the Justice Department had collected quite a file on
the maverick newsman, who happened to have been born
in Poland. The atmosphere was one of intimidation. And,
as Mazo recalled, “Bobby’s so-called ‘lecture,’ as it has been
described, was in reality a childish outburst He was so en-
raged over our coverage of the Estes scandal that I ex-
pected at any moment he would throw himself to the
floor, screaming and bawling for his way. Instead, he paced
back and forth, storming and complaining. It was some-
thing to seel” (That was the week, incidentally, when

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 87

President Kennedy banned Mazo’s newspaper from the
White House.)

Extraordinary measures were taken by the Kennedys in
order to whip press critics into line. Representative Bob
Wilson, a California Republican, told his fellow solons at
the time, “I know of one instance where a publisher was in-
vited to the White House where he was wined and dined
. . . and then was asked to go down the street to the De-
partment of Justice, where he had a conference with the
President’s brother. The conference had to do with a
possible anti-trust violation. So, the orders soon went out —
and we have this on good authority — that the critical
columnists and newspapermen on this particular paper
were to let up on their criticism of the New Frontier.”

Wilson also reported that other newsmen who were
critical of the administration were offered “very cozy and
very attractive jobs. One columnist told me that he was
offered a very exciting job in the State Department. He
turned it down. Shortly thereafter his income-tax returns
were being checked.”

Another who suddenly began having difficulties with
the IRS was columnist Jim Bishop. “They started about
the time Robert Kennedy became the Attorney General. I
wrote a story and said he acted as though the rest of us
were working on his old man’s plantation. After that,
audits.”

Likewise Walter Winchell’s taxes received a fine-tooth
combing after the Broadway columnist had given un-
shirted hell to both JFK and RFK. As Winchell told me
at the time, “The Kennedys are out to ‘get’ me.” The col-
umnist said he had never before had that much trouble
with the IRS, even when Truman, whom he had attacked
just as vigorously, had been President.

This writer, too, had aroused Bobby’s fury for having
written J.F.K.: The Man and the Myth . After the book
zoomed to number one on the bestseller lists, it was dis-
closed that federal officials had launched an investigation
of me. Apparently President Kennedy himself took a more
tolerant view of the book. As he told Time-Life correspon-
dent Hugh Sidey at the time, “I read the whole thing and
found it fascinating.”

Bobby did not find the book fascinating. And he sought

88

VICTOR LASKY

to cover up a highly improper, if not illegal, investigation
of me. At first, in a letter to then Senator Kenneth Keating
. of New York, the Attorney General emphatically denied he
had ever authorized any such investigation. Only later —
after evidence had been produced — did he concede that
“overzealous” officials had undertaken the probe, but with-
out his approval. As it turned out, these officials had served
under Bobby as Senate investigators. Both were known to
have a penchant for wiretapping and, following the 1960
election, had been placed on the payroll of the Immigration
and Naturalization Service. What Keating had also es-
tablished at the time was that the FBI had originally been
asked to conduct the investigation but that Hoover em-
phatically refused to involve the Bureau in what was, as the
director put it, strictly a “political vendetta.”

The “overzealous” snoopers had as one of their chores
the task of trying to link me with subversive activities. To
this end they scoured government dossiers looking for any
kind of dirt. But they blundered when they signed an of-
ficial request for such information from the Senate Internal
Security Subcommittee. Whereupon one of the subcom-
mittee’s employees — an old friend — phoned to warn me
that Bobby’s boys were poking around the files.

The files contained nothing. But that did not stop the
Attorney General from unloosing a campaign of vilifica-
tion. All of a sudden several Democratic chairmen in West-
ern states publicly accused me of being an ex-Communist,
while Democratic National Chairman John Bailey de-
scribed me as a “Birchite.” Thus the executive wing of
government, under the Kennedys, used its enormous power
in an attempt to defame one of its critics.

In retrospect what made the entire episode even more
significant was the total lack of interest shown by the
same liberal press which was to become outraged — and
quite properly so-— by the Nixon administration’s misuse of
the FBI in conducting a field investigation of Daniel
Schorr. Such newspapers as the Washington Post and The
New York Times couldn’t have cared less about the viola-
tions of the civil liberties of an anti-Kennedy author. No
teams of investigative reporters were assigned to dig into
what appeared to be an insidious attack on the First
Amendment. Likewise not one word of protest emanated
from the usually vigilant American Civil Liberties Union.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

89

If anything, liberal publicists like James Wechsler treated
the episode as a joke. In his New York Post column on
October 15, 1963, Wechsler noted that Governor Rocke-
feller, in an Indiana speech, had condemned the Kennedys
for seeking to harass me. “After diligent inquiry,” wrote
Wechsler, “it becomes my harsh duty to inform author
Victor Lasky and his publishers that he is in no danger of
prosecution, or any other form of federal harassment. It
is also my gratuitous counsel that he cease transmitting the
delusion of danger to Governor Rockefeller and his ghosts.”

I had never transmitted anything to Rockefeller — the
only major figure, incidentally, who at the time perceived
the dangers inherent in the New Frontier’s efforts to throt-
tle a critic.

Wechsler also derided my claim that Immigration of-
ficials had made inquiries of the Senate Internal Security
Subcommittee for information in its files about me.
“Lasky’s lament raised certain intrinsic doubts,” he wrote.
“For one thing, he had been a ‘friendly’ witness before
Mr. Eastland’s subcommittee (and) it would hardly seem
plausible that anyone would view the subcommittee files as
a source of derogatory information about so staunch a
guardian of the republic.”

But “for one thing” I had never been a “friendly” witness
before the Eastland Subcommittee. At the time I had tes-
tified only once before a Senate committee: representing
the Freedom of the Press Committee of the Overseas Press
Club of America, I criticized the Eisenhower administra-
tion for its refusal to permit American correspondents to
travel to Communist China. (The committee, incidentally,
was headed by Sam Ervin of North Carolina.)

“Nevertheless,” Wechsler continued,

I have ascertained that a call was made. It was made
by a zealous, lower-level agent in the Immigration
Service who, having read of Mr. Lasky’s ardent labors
in the cause of super-patriotism in the press notices of
his historic work, believed he might some day be a
valuable informant in immigration cases.

This dedicated gumshoe called the subcommittee
to ascertain where Lasky could be located in the event
that his guidance were needed. He carefully recorded
the data in his notebook. Out of this inquiry was born

90 VICTOR LASKY

Lasky’s tale of persecution which Governor Rocke-
feller so carelessly embraced in his Indiana speech,
thereby giving this episode national attention.

And there you have it. It was all due to a “zealous,
lower-level agent,” who wanted my address in case he
would need my services as a “valuable informant in im-
migration cases,” presumably involving foreign-born Com-
munists. Well, one of the few former members of the
Young Communist League whom I personally knew at the
time was James Wechsler. However, as far as I know, he
was born in this country and was therefore presumably
ineligible for deportation.

But the story demonstrates the lengths to which the Ken-
nedy administration — or more specifically Robert Kennedy
and his aides — went in seeking to cover up a blunder in
dispatching gumshoes on the trail of a critic.

A month after the Wechsler column appeared, Robert
Kennedy’s press officer telephoned my publisher to relay
the Attorney General’s concern about the “blunder” com-
mitted by those “over-zealous” subordinates. The question
raised was whether I would cease publicly voicing my ac-
cusations on the matter. I said I would, provided that I re-
ceive an official letter of apology.

A few days later John Kennedy was murdered. The
issue immediately became inconsequential.

On June 12, 1971, J. Edgar Hoover informed me that
Robert Kennedy had wiretapped my telephone for several
weeks in the summer of 1963. The FBI had not done the
job, he said. Rather it was done by “outside people,” whom
he did not identify. In other words, long before the Nixon
administration, the Kennedys had their own “plumbers” op-
eration going for them.

Some idea of how Robert Kennedy operated in these
illegal enterprises has been provided by a Mafia “wireman”
who claims to have worked for the Attorney General. He
is Gerard M. Callahan, once described by the district attor-
ney of Queens County as “a notorious criminal, highly
publicized as the electronics expert of the underworld.”
Which he indeed was.

According to Callahan, he also worked for Attorney
General Kennedy. An account of that work can be found

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 91

in a little-publicized book which he wrote in collaboration
with Paul S. Meskil, a top crime reporter for the New
York Daily News.* Here Callahan tells how he was first
summoned to Washington in the late fifties to confer with
Bobby Kennedy, then chief counsel of the Labor Rackets
Committee. Kennedy was working on a bill to make un-
authorized wiretaps a federal crime and he wanted to tap
Callahan’s expertise.

After Kennedy was appointed Attorney General, he
would contact Callahan from time to time. But on one
occasion he asked “Cheesebox” — as Callahan was known
in the underworld — to perform a “wire” job so secret and
sensitive that the Attorney General said he could not en-
trust it to the FBI.

What Kennedy wanted done, he explained over lunch
in his New York hotel suite in early September 1963, was
the wiretapping of the press corps during his brother’s
forthcoming visits to Newport, Rhode Island. The President
was planning to join his family at Hammersmith Farm,
the summer residence of Mr. and Mrs. Hugh D. Auchin-
closs, Jackie’s mother and stepfather.

According to Callahan, Kennedy told him that the cor-
respondents would be staying at the Newport Motor Inn
and would be using a conference room as their headquar-
ters. About twenty to thirty telephones would be installed
and Kennedy wanted to know everything that was said on
them. All Callahan would have to do was put in the taps. A
friend would operate the recording equipment, which would
be installed in a room near the motel.

Callahan agreed to do the job and Kennedy gave him “a
substantial down payment” to cover the costs of equip-
ment and expenses. But, as Callahan told Kennedy, “there
was one small fly in the ointment. I was out on bail in a
criminal case. My picture had appeared in many news-
papers. My mug shots were on file in several police de-
partments, the FBI, and the security offices of phone com-
panies and racetracks all over the country, including Rhode
Island. If I got collared in Newport, my New York bail
would be revoked and I’d be thrown in the slammer.”

21"? Gerard M. Callahan, Cheesebox (Englewood

Cliffs, N. J.: Prentice-Hall, 1974).

92

VICTOR LASKY

“Well,” Kennedy said, “try to be as inconspicuous as
possible and if you get into trouble call me at this number
and I'll take care of it.”

Kennedy, according to Callahan, also told him that his
friend would contact him and, when the job was completed,
pay him the rest of the money.

Two days later the friend did call. They made arrange-
ments to meet in Jamestown, Rhode Island. The friend, a
man in his early forties, introduced himself as ‘ Jim. They
then drove to Newport where that night Callahan went to
work. After installing the taps on the cables leading into
the press room, Callahan ran extension lines into a nearby
house where “Jim” had installed his recording equipment.
The tapes werq ready to roll.

Callahan returned to New York. Later that September
he received a call from “Jim” asking him to get back to
Newport in order to remove the wiretap equipment. This
done, “Jim” paid him the remainder of his fee for what
Callahan described as “secret service to the Attorney
General.”

To this day Callahan says he does not know — or even
care to know — just why Kennedy wanted the Newport taps
or whether the President himself was aware of them. He
just assumed that’s the way politicians operate. Which
is why Callahan wasn’t surprised or shocked when nine
years later he read about Watergate.

Another person who had good reason to believe that his
private phone in his Senate offices had been wiretapped by
the Kennedys was Kenneth Keating. This was back in
1962, when the New York Republican was warning that
the Soviets were setting up an offensive missile site in Cuba.
The Kennedy administration scoffed at the warning. The
President himself said there was no such evidence. It took
several months before he found it and we were eyeball to
eyeball with the Soviet Union in a possible nuclear con-
frontation.

During this period I had several interviews with Keat-
ing. The interviews always took place in the hallway out-
side his offices. The political atmosphere was tense. The
Kennedys were infuriated with Keating for revealing in-
formation they considered politically embarrassing. Keat-
ing talked to me in the hallway because, as he then told me,
he had good reason to believe that the Kennedys were

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 93

learning everything he was saying in the privacy of his of-
fice. And, as he later said, he was unquestionably put
under surveillance on orders of Attorney General Ken-
nedy without a court order.

Ironically Keating was beaten in his reelection try by
none other than Robert Kennedy. It was a tough campaign,
one of the toughest the Empire State had ever seen. A
decade later, talking about the campaign with Mike Berlin
of the New York Post, Keating made this observation: “I
don’t want to make any allegations against people who are
no longer here to defend themselves, but political espionage
didn’t start with Watergate.”

EIGHT

In the early summer of 1975 Senator Frank Church de-
cided against holding open hearings on the subject of the
Central Intelligence Agency’s involvement in plots to
assassinate foreign leaders.

His decision, as chairman of the Senate Select Com-
mittee on Intelligence investigating CIA malefactions, came
as a complete surprise. For not long before, the Idaho
Democrat had given every indication of being anxious to
get to the bottom of the charges involving the CIA’s role in
assassinations. In fact when the Rockefeller Commission
refused to make public its file on the subject, Church said,
“The American people are entitled to know what their gov-
ernment has done — the good and the bad, the right and
the wrong.”

His resolve lasted only a few short weeks. Then he an-
nounced that he did not want “to hold up the whole sordid
story and telecast it to every corner of the world.” Hence
the lid on public hearings of his committee.

What had happened to change the senator’s mind?

According to Republican sources on the committee, the
evidence that had been amassed behind closed doors dem-
onstrated quite convincingly that the Kennedy brothers had
been up to their ears in, at the very least, assassination
talk. And airing of such distasteful information would not
accrue to the political benefit of a politician who, besides
being a loyal Kennedy Democrat, had made no secret of
his own presidential ambitions. Obviously Church believed
that demythologizing JFK — by publicizing the fact that
the President had discussed murder in the Oval Office —
would not do his political fortunes much good.

Which apparently is why this ardent advocate of the peo-
ple’s right to know anything and everything about their

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 95

government suddenly had a change of heart. Obviously
there were things the people were not entitled to know.
And what appeared to be in the making in that summer
was another of those cover-ups for which Washington has
become famous. This time, however, the cover-up appeared
to be aimed at protecting the reputations of John and
Robert Kennedy.

Even those parts of the media which had always insisted
on publicizing everything suddenly decided it wasn’t ab-
solutely necessary. Thus columnist Mary McGrory, while
calling for public hearings on all the evil deeds performed
by the CIA, added tellingly: “Assassination can be left
out for the moment.” For, as she had previously pointed
out: “The unspoken threat in all this is that Church, a
faithful ally of John Kennedy, might find himself in the
end pointing a finger at the Democrats’ beloved victim of
assassination.” And for Ms. Mary, who loved the Ken-
nedys like her own, that would have been just too much.

But as evidence accumulated and was pieced together, it
became obvious to all except those who refused to see that
official encouragement of high-level plotting against for-
eign rulers reached its high point, not under Nixon or
even Johnson, but under Kennedy. Indeed most of the
data on this unsavory practice concerned the Kennedy
years.

The temper of the Kennedy years fitted tough actions.
The new President had made it clear in his Inaugural
speech — “Ask not what your country can do for you . . .”
— what kind of leader he expected to be: “. . . we shall
pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, sup-
port any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival of the
success of liberty. ... In the long history of the world,
only a few generations have been granted the role of de-
fending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not
shrink from this responsibility — I welcome it.”

Within weeks the new President was encouraging the
largest military buildup in the nation’s history, going much
further than even Eisenhower. At the same time he gave
the go-ahead to the Bay of Pigs invasion, a project which,
though already under way under Eisenhower, had been
halted pending Kennedy’s approval. And when the in-
vasion failed, largely because he got cold feet about using

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VICTOR LASKY

airpower to back up the anti-Castro forces on the beaches,
Kennedy felt humiliated. As did brother Bobby, who be-
came infuriated when Undersecretary of State Chester
Bowles advised newsmen that he had opposed the ven-
ture but had been overruled by JFK. Poking Bowles in the
chest, Bobby snarled, “So you advised against this opera-
tion. Well, as of now, you were all for it.” When Bowles
threatened to resign and speak out, rather than take an-
other assignment, Bobby warned him, “We will destroy
you.” This was the same sort of warning Bobby delivered
to Humphrey when the senator refused to support JFK’s
nomination. “I’m going to get you,” Bobby shouted an-
grUy.

It was in this kind of macho atmosphere that various
plots to “depose” Castro were discussed. Angered by Fidel’s
victory over the U.S.-backed troops, the Kennedy brothers
vowed to “get even” with the Cuban dictator. After the Bay
of Pigs the President himself spurred the CIA into an im-
mense covert war against Cuba. It required the services of
thousands of men and cost as much as $100 million a
year.*

At the same time the Kennedys covertly ordered several
U.S. agencies to find some sure means of “eliminating”
Castro. The CIA had been thinking along these lines for
some time. In fact the Agency had, even under Eisen-
hower, worked with Mafia leaders Giancana and Roselli in
devising plans to bump off Fidel.

Bobby Kennedy learned all this himself in the form of a
detailed secret memorandum from J. Edgar Hoover dated
May 1, 1961. The director informed the Attorney General
of the CIA’s dealings with Giancana and Roselli. The FBI
had discovered the surprising connection in its own in-
vestigation of the two racket figures. Though the Hoover
memorandum never mentioned the words “assassination”
or “elimination” (the euphemism employed in spy cir-
cles), the director did refer to the CIA’s relationships with
the mobsters as “dirty business.” According to sources
quoted by The New York Times , Attorney General Ken-
nedy jotted this note on top of the memorandum: “Have

♦For details of the covert war, see the article “The Kennedy Venr
detta,” by Taylor Branch and George Crile III, in Harper's , August

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 97

this followed up vigorously.” The memo also bore his
handwritten initials “R.F.K.”

A year later Kennedy was given a more precise briefing
on why the CIA was dealing with Mafiosi. Lawrence
Houston, general counsel for the Agency from its found-
ing in 1947, told the Attorney General about the planned
effort to “dispose” of Castro. More recently Houston dis-
closed that the briefing did not seem to surprise Kennedy.
In fact he “didn’t seem very perturbed” about the plot,
only about the CIA’s use of organized crime. “If you are
going to have anything to do with the Mafia,” Kennedy
said, “you come see me first.”

As a result of this May 1962 meeting with Houston,
Kennedy gave Hoover further details on the CIA opera-
tion. The FBI chief then wrote a “memorandum for the
files,” which thirteen years later was turned over to the
Rockefeller Commission. In that memorandum Hoover had
voiced concern that Giancana could “blackmail” the United
States. Which, in fact, he attempted to do. But then he him-
self was “disposed of” in what appeared to be a gangland
slaying in 1975.

It was in the summer of 1962 that Robert Kennedy con-
tacted Major General Edward G. Lansdale and ordered
him to begin work on a special- CIA project to develop
various options for “getting rid of” Fidel Castro. In an in-
terview with the Washington Star, Lansdale emphasized
that the Attorney General had not used the word “assassina-
tion.” However, he added, there could be no doubt that
“the project for disposing of Castro envisioned the whole
spectrum of plans from overthrowing the Cuban leader to
assassinating him.”

Kennedy had gone to Lansdale, then special assistant to
Secretary of Defense McNamara, because he and the
President had lost faith in the CIA following the Bay of
Pigs. And he couldn’t have gone to a better man. In the
late 1940s Lansdale had been an adviser to President
Magsaysay of the Philippines, in which role he helped put
down the Communist-led Huk rebellion. In the mid-fifties
he served as a CIA political officer in Saigon, where he
helped establish the Diem regime, and one of the men who
admired and served under him in counter-insurgent work
was none other than Daniel Ellsberg. Lansdale’s colorful
activities in South Vietnam captured the imagination of

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VICTOR LASKY

several major writers; he is believed to be the model for
“Colonel Hillandale” in the novel The Ugly American and
for “Pyle” in The Quiet American .

But there was no fiction about why Bobby went to
Lansdale. The situation in the Caribbean was tense. There
was growing concern in Washington about the increasing
presence of Soviet military advisers in Cuba, as well as
suspicion that they were installing an ICBM missile force
on the island. Senator Keating had been sounding the
alarm and the situation was most embarrassing for an ad-
ministration already humiliated by the Bay of Pigs.

Lansdale knew all of this when he relayed Kennedy’s
orders directly to CIA official William K. Harvey — thus
bypassing the Agency’s chain of command, including the
director himself, John A. McCone. Lansdale instructed
Harvey to prepare “contingency” plans for disposing of
Castro because he wanted to know whether the United
States had the capabilities for such an operation.

Asked in 1975 by Washington Star reporter Jeremiah
O’Leary if he checked on Harvey’s progress in carrying out
Bobby Kennedy’s instructions, Lansdale said he did not keep
abreast of the details. But, he added, he “was often in con-
versation with President Kennedy and his brother.” At
the time he was working on other plans for their consid-
eration about how to cope with Cuban threats to the
United States.

Meanwhile a special cabinet-level group had been set
up by President Kennedy to direct anti-Cuban operations.
Titled “Operation Mongoose,” the group was headed by his
brother. The name is revealing. A mongoose is a ferret-like
mammal found in India. It is known, for its ferocity in
attacking and killing the most poisonous snakes.

Other members of the group included Secretary Mc-
Namara; CIA Director McCone; Secretary of State Rusk;
and McGeorge Bundy, the President’s national security ad-
viser. The Rockefeller Commission obtained the minutes
of an August 10, 1962, meeting of this group, whose of-
ficial title was Special Group (Augmented), which clearly
indicate that the subject of assassinating Castro was dis-
cussed. Robert Kennedy was not listed as being present
at this meeting. And though the notion of killing Castro
was dismissed, plans were subsequently made to do just

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 99

that. As Bundy, now head of the Ford Foundation, was
to tell reporters in 1975, Kennedy officials often discussed
“how nice it would be if this or that leader” were not
around.

As far as can be determined, there were two other
meetings of the group planning Operation Mongoose. For-
mer CIA chief McCone was to acknowledge that the
group had “directed mischievous things against Castro, like
infiltrating saboteurs, blowing up bridges and carrying on
general confusion.” These activities involved the Penta-
gon; U.S. navy ships, for example, were used to transport
infiltrators (mainly of Cuban origin) to points close to the
Cuban coast. Deeply involved in all of this was none other
than Joseph Califano, then a Pentagon official, who later
was to serve President Johnson and then as HEW Secre-
tary under President Carter.

That Robert Kennedy (and hence his brother the Presi-
dent) well knew about the plot against Castro has been
established beyond a reasonable doubt. This despite the
pleas of Frank Church not to hold the Kennedys respon-
sible for all those plots gestated in their tenure since, as the
senator put it, the CIA had acted like a “rogue elephant,”
that is, acted on its own with no responsible officials includ-
ing the President aware of what the Agency was doing.
Perhaps so; but highly unlikely. One of JFK’s best friends,
former Senator Smathers of Florida, told the Church Com-
mittee that President Kennedy had sought his reaction to
a possible assassination plot against Castro early in 1962.
And Rockefeller, after examining all the evidence, ob-
served, “I think it’s fair to say that no major undertakings
were taken by the CIA without either knowledge and/or
approval of the White House.”

Rockefeller quickly came under fire for pointing the
finger at the Kennedys. White House reporters asked
whether President Ford was displeased with the Vice
President for that reason. The White House response was
“No!” As John Osborne reported in The New Republic ,
“On the face of it, the President had no right to be dis-
pleased and I’m told that he had no grounds to be. I’m
also told to be very cautious indeed about absolving the
Kennedys or falling in with the attempts of former Ken-
nedy associates, notably Adam Walinsky and Frank Man-

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VICTOR LASKY

kiewicz, to suggest that Ford apologists are deliberately
smearing John and Robert Kennedy in order to get at
Senator Edward Kennedy.”

Without knowing all the facts, both Walinsky and Man-
kiewicz had been quick to deny that either Kennedy knew
anything about the assassination plots. How they were so
positive is p uzzli ng, since Mankiewicz in that period was
serving with the Peace Corps in Lima, Peru, and Walinsky
was barely an adult. Nevertheless they actually claimed there
was “no evidence” that the brothers “were ‘involved’ in any
assassination in any way.” At the same time they did not
deny that anti-Castro plotting had taken place during the
Kennedy years. And if such plotting had taken place, then
President Kennedy most certainly should have known about
it. To say that he didn’t is just about as damaging as to say
that he did.

The intended target, Castro, was well aware of who was
out to “get” him. He has since claimed that his security po-
lice foiled many similar plots. These attempts prompted
the Cuban leader to warn the Kennedy administration that
it would find itself in danger if it continued. In an inter-
view with Associated Press correspondent Daniel Harker
in September 1963, Castro delivered this warning: “We are
prepared to fight them and answer in kind. United States
leaders should think that if they are aiding terrorist plans to
eliminate Cuban leaders, they themselves will not be safe.”

Two months later on November 22, 1963, the day John
Kennedy was killed in Dallas, a high-ranking CIA official
named Desmond Fitzgerald was meeting with a senior
Cuban official named Rolando Cubela, whom the CIA had
recruited as an important “asset” inside Cuba, but whom
some believe was a double agent. Cubela, a Castro inti-
mate, was given the CIA code name AM/ LASH. By Sep-
tember 1963 AM/ LASH was proposing an “inside job”
against the Castro regime, including Fidel’s assassination.
And his talk about getting rid of the Cuban dictator was
communicated to CIA headquarters on September 7, 1963.
Later that evening Castro delivered his warning against any
U.S. efforts to assassinate Cuban leaders via Harker.

Previously Fitzgerald had been introduced to Cubela
as a “personal representative” of Attorney General Ken-
nedy. On that occasion AM/ LASH asked for an assassina-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 101

tion weapon such as a high-powered rifle with telescopic
sights. But no such rifle was immediately available. On
November 22, 1963, Cubela was provided instead with a
poison pen outfitted with a hypodermic needle. As a long-
secret CIA report observed, “It is likely that at the
very moment President Kennedy was shot, a CIA officer
was meeting with a Cuban agent and giving him an as-
sassination device for use against Castro.”

Jack Anderson, who was the first to break the story
of the anti-Castro plotting in January 1971, reported that
Robert Kennedy was emotionally devastated by the possi-
bility that the efforts he launched may well have led to
the death of his beloved brother.

What was still puzzling, according to Senator Richard
Schweiker of Pennsylvania, was the fact that the War-
ren Commission which investigated the Kennedy assassina-
tion had been told nothing about the CIA plotting, even
though the late Allen Dulles, then the Agency’s director,
sat on the panel. Schweiker, who as a member of the
Church Committee listened to all the witnesses on the sub-
ject, raised the possibility that the President had been
killed in retaliation for his anti-Castro activities. He called
for a new investigation of the President’s death.

And President Johnson, shortly after taking office in
1963, discovered that, as he put it, “We had been operating
a damned Murder Inc. in the Caribbean.” That was how
he phrased it — several months before his death — to Leo
Janos, a former aide. Janos, writing in the June 1973 issue
of Atlantic , reported that LBJ had speculated that Ken-
nedy’s assassination may have been triggered by a ven-
geance-seeking Castro. Even more recently it was disclosed
that Johnson believed that the assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald,
may have been “influenced or directed” by the Castro gov-
ernment. As LBJ confided to Howard K. Smith, “I will
tell you something that will rock you. Kennedy was trying
to get Castro, but Castro got to him first.”

The irony is that, if this was the case, the Johnson ad-
ministration did everything possible to prevent the truth
from coming out. The Warren Commission, formed at
LBJ’s urgent insistence, operated under severe handicaps.
From the beginning it faced persistent White House pres-
sures to dispel conspiracy rumors. And it had hardly been

102 VICTOR LASKY

formed when Attorney General Katzenbach wrote each
member to suggest that they publicize the FBI’s findings
that Oswald was the lone assassin.

Johnson also believed that his predecessor had given
the go-ahead signal for the plots which led to the killings
of the Dominican Republic’s Generalissimo Rafael Tru-
jillo on May 30, 1961, and of South Vietnam’s President
Ngo Dinh Diem on November 1, 1963.

What Johnson in effect was saying, in so-called back-
grounders, was that Kennedy had been working both sides
of the Caribbean, by plotting Castro’s destruction as well
as that of Castro’s most bitter enemy Trujillo. Never be-
fore — or since — has there been an “Imperial presidency”
in which the “disposal” of foreign leaders was so eagerly
discussed and plotted.

As Franklin Roosevelt once supposedly said of Trujillo:
“He’s a son-of-a-bitch, but he’s our son-of-a-bitch.” The
Caribbean strong-man had long been regarded as an ally
of the United States. In fact Trujillo was an admirer of
Kennedy; shortly before the 1960 election, his radio sta-
tion had endorsed him for President. A broadcast over La
Voz Dominicana , beamed to North America, described
Kennedy as “a dynamic, angry young man who likes to call
a spade a spade, a fighting man . . . aware of the dan-
gerous Russian interference in the Caribbean. . . .”

Half a year later the “dynamic, angry young man”
headed an administration which gave material support to
Trujillo’s enemies. Almost at the last minute the adminis-
tration got cold feet about the plot involving Dominican
army officers, and made an abortive effort to prevent the
assassination. Apparently higher-ups in Washington, per-
haps including the President, felt that a miscarriage of the
plot would be too embarrassing, particularly on the heels
of the Bay of Pigs. But it was too late. Forces unleashed
by the administration could not be contained in the final
hours.

Trujillo came to a bloody end on a lonely coastal road
six weeks after the Bay of Pigs fiasco. He was speeding in
a limousine toward San Cristobal, where he had planned a
rendezvous with his twenty-year-old mistress. Suddenly a
Chevrolet drew abreast. In it were four men laden with all
types of small arms. Within minutes the Generalissimo was
dead. The arms had been provided by American officials.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 103

Ironically the whole story was published in convincing
detail in the April 13, 1963, issue of The New Republic.
But the article, written by Norman Gall, then a reporter
for the San Juan Star , caused so little stir at the time that
the editors of The New Republic had to be reminded of
their considerable scoop fourteen years after the fact. On
June 28, 1975, the liberal magazine reprinted its 1963 dis-
patch, with the suggestion that members of the Church
Committee read it. In an accompanying up-date, it noted
that the original draft of the piece had stated bluntly
that “President Kennedy knew of and approved plans to
bump off Trujillo,” but that this reference had been deleted
from the published version.

According to The New Republic , other publications —
most notably Time and the New York Post — also knew the
whole story but did not print it. The magazine disclosed
that the original draft of the Gall article had first been sub-
mitted to Post columnist William Shannon, but that Shan-
non didn’t buy it because, he said, the Post did not have
an important enough audience. Instead Shannon passed the
article along to The New Republic , suggesting that the
reference to Kennedy be excised.* Which was precisely
what was done, The New Republic today conceding that
“relations between the press and President Kennedy, every-
one now recognizes in retrospect, were too chummy.”

If Kennedy had, in the words of The New Republic,
indeed known “and approved plans to bump off Trujillo,”
he was in direct violation of the law. As were all others
involved in the plot. For under the Criminal Code, it is an
illegal act if anyone within the United States “knowingly
begins ... or provides or prepares a means for or furnishes
the money for, or takes part in, any military or naval ex-
pedition or enterprise to be carried on from thence against
the territory or dominion of any foreign prince or state, or
of any colony, district or people with whom the United
States is at peace.”

0 And the United States most definitely was “at peace”
with the Dominican Republic, which, unlike Cuba, was
considered a “friendly nation.”

•Shannon, at present a columnist for The New York Times, now
recalls that he thought back in 1963 that The New Republic was
being excessively cautious in editing out the reference to Kennedy.

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VICTOR LASKY

Violation of the statute is punishable by a $3,000 fine or
imprisonment for not more than three years or both. By
now, the statute of limitations probably protects the plot-
ters.

Then there was the toppling of the government of
President Miguel Ydigoras Fuentes of Guatemala. Accord-
ing to Ydigoras, it was President Kennedy who ordered
the coup which overthrew him in March 1963. The reason,
he claims, was that Kennedy had to find a “scapegoat”
for his failure of the Bay of Pigs.

Now living in El Salvador, the former Guatemalan
president claims that the attempt to terminate the Castro
regime failed because of “the great indecisions of President
Kennedy.”

“As always,” Ydigoras told an interviewer, “he had to
find a scapegoat, and that scapegoat was Ydigoras Fuentes.
It was through Kennedy’s orders that my government was
destroyed.”

An ardent foe of Castro, Ydigoras had permitted the
CIA to train hundreds of Cuban exiles as an invasion force
within Guatemala.

But an even greater scandal of the Kennedy adminis-
tration in terms of its dire consequences was the manner
in which the highest officials of the government at the
time, including the President, were involved in the con-
spiracy leading to the overthrow of South Vietnam’s Presi-
dent Ngo Dinh Diem.

Once again Kennedy and his associates definitely violated
the law by plotting a coup against a friendly government.
And once again a Kennedy-approved conspiracy led to
murder.

Diem’s death, which Kennedy had not directly planned,
was a tragedy not only for South Vietnam but for the
United States as well. It was, as the Wall Street Journal
has observed, “the worst single mistake of postwar foreign
policy. It was this act more than anything else that bogged
the U.S. down in Vietnam.” For it left the young South-
east Asian nation leaderless and it led to the overwhelming
involvement of American troops in an undeclared war
(which many liberals later insisted was not only immoral
but illegal) to save South Vietnam from falling to com-
munism.

As President Johnson told reporters during a discussion

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 105

of Vietnam in August 1967, “On instructions of ours we
assassinated Diem and then, by God, I walked into it. It
was too late and we went through one government after
another.”

In all, over 50,000 American boys died and several hun-
dred thousand were wounded in what was to become the
most unpopular war in the nation’s history. It was a conflict
which led one President to decide not to stand for re-
election and, more indirectly, caused another to resign —
the first ever to do so. For what has become known as “Wa-
tergate” had its origins in the emotional turmoil occasioned
by that faraway jungle war. And, in a perverse way, it
was the unraveling of Watergate which led to the destruc-
tion of a strong presidency which, in turn, led to the
final weakening of the American resolve in Vietnam. Who
in his right mind could ever have conceived that the antics
of a Jeb Magruder and a G. Gordon Liddy could have
ultimately resulted in such catastrophe?

Despite the efforts of Schlesinger and others to revise
history, the fact is that Vietnam, in the final analysis, was
Kennedy’s war. But it was one for which he originally
did not want to take the credit — or discredit. Thus with-
out public announcement or even approval of the Con-
gress, the President covertly authorized the dispatch of
thousands of American troops to South Vietnam. Arriving
without fanfare, they soon began to die. In many ways
“Nam” was a measure of JFK’s presumed machismo. In
the backwash of his humiliation at the Bay of Pigs, he
wanted to demonstrate to the “fucking Commies” that
he could be tough, too. Having read Lansdale’s report on
Vietcong successes, he called upon the army to establish
a tough, counter-guerrilla unit which became known as
the Green Berets. Not only did Kennedy keep a beret on
his desk in the Oval Office, but he took a personal interest
in the equipment which was to be used to wipe out left-
wing guerrillas. At the same time he authorized covert
operations inside North Vietnam itself. They were not too
successful.

All of this was carried on without the knowledge of the
American people, through clever manipulation of the news
and outright lying. At least that’s the conclusion of a study
prepared for the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in
1972. Chairman Fulbright, commenting on the study

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VICTOR LASKY

covering the Vietnam decisions of the Kennedy presidency,
said: “Executive secrecy and dissembling during the early
1960’s is reminiscent of Lord Palmerston’s lack of candor
with the British Parliament in initiating the Opium War
of 1839.”

And there was a great deal of dissembling on. the part
of the Kennedy administration about the coup that led to
Diem’s murder. The essential facts were reported at the
time by the late Marguerite Higgins, but they were largely
ignored until the publication of the secret documents now
known as the Pentagon Papers and the recent uproar about
the CIA.

Any objective reading of the Pentagon Papers would
confirm that the Kennedy administration was not only
aware of the conspiracy of the Saigon generals to oust
Diem, but encouraged it. Kennedy himself approved a
cable sent to Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge in Saigon
on August 24, 1963, ordering him to bring about Diem’s
overthrow. This was at the time when the authoritarian
activities of Diem’s brother and sister-in-law, the Ngo
Dinh Nhus, were arousing concern particularly among
correspondents stationed in Saigon. There were charges of
corruption, Swiss bank accounts, and police brutality — all
getting major attention in the American press. All of which
further convinced the President that Diem and Nhu had
to go, and the sooner the better.

The cable, written by Assistant Secretary of State Roger
Hilsman, began by saying that the U.S. “cannot tolerate
situation in which power lies in hands” of Nhu and his
wife. The key paragraph went on to declare in the stuttering
language of cable-ese:

“We wish give Diem reasonable opportunity to remove
Nhus, but if he remains obdurate, then we are prepared to
accept the obvious implication that we can no longer sup-
port Diem. You may also tell appropriate military com-
manders we will give them direct support in any in-
terim period of breakdown central government mechan-
ism.”

The cable had been sent over the signature of Acting
Secretary of State George W. Ball.

Ambassador Lodge, who received the message, told a
congressional subcommittee in July 1975 that he thought

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 107

the telegram “insane,” adding that its instructions were
countermanded eight days later.

But Ball, before the same group, defended the message.
He said it had been brought to him by Hilsman and rov-
ing Ambassador Averill Harriman. After which he tele-
phoned President Kennedy, weekending in Hyannisport,
“and he told me, ‘If you and Secretary Rusk think it’s the
right thing to do, go ahead.’ ” Ball next called Rusk in New
York, “and he wasn’t too enthusiastic, but he agreed.”
Lodge may now believe the August 24, 1963, cable
was “insane,” but the record shows that on August 29,
1963, he sent this message to Rusk: “We are launched on a
course from which there is no respectable turning back:
the overthrow of the Diem Government. There is no
turning back in part because U.S. prestige is already com-
mitted to this end in large measure and will become more
so as facts leak out. In a more fundamental sense, there is
no turning back because there is no possibility, in my view,
that the war can be won under a Diem administration. . .

Lodge, of course, denies that he at any time recom-
mended the “disposal” of Diem. But others in the pro-
coup faction, notably Hilsman, most definitely envisioned
the possible liquidation of the South Vetnamese leader with
greater equanimity. In a memo to Rusk dated August
30, 1963, Hilsman put it this way:

“We should encourage the coup group to fight the bat-
tle to the end and to destroy the palace if necessary to gain
victory . . . unconditional surrender should be the terms
for the Ngo family, since it will otherwise seek to out-
maneuver both the coup forces and the U.S. If the family
is taken alive, the Nhus should be banished to France . • .
Diem should be treated as the generals wish.”

The next day Rusk received another message from
Lodge, reporting the collapse of the conspiracy because, as
the ambassador put it, there was “neither the will nor the
organization among the generals to accomplish anything.”
At the same time Lodge sent even more disturbing news.
It seemed, he reported, that Diem’s brother Nhu was
secretly dealing with Hanoi and the Vietcong through
the French and Polish ambassadors, both of whose gov-
ernments were seeking a neutralist solution to the con-
flict. Whether or not this was true was never firmly es-

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VICTOR LASKY

tablished. But it is significant that talk of a “neutralist so-
lution to the conflict” sent shock waves of anxiety through-
out the Kennedy administration.

The administration did not know what to do next. “The
U.S. found itself at the end of August, 1963, without a
policy and with most of its bridges burned,” a Pentagon
official noted.

The National Security Council, in emergency session on
August 31, could not reach a consensus. Hilsman, for ex-
ample, argued forcefully against the United States ac-
quiescing “to a strong Nhu-dominated government.” He
said such a course of action would be bad for the Amer-
ican image.

Disagreeing were Vice President Johnson, Rusk, and
McNamara. According to minutes, Rusk said that U.S.
policy should be based on two points — “that we will not
pull out of Vietnam until the war is won, and that we
will not run a coup.” McNamara expressed approval of
this view, as did Johnson, who added that he had great
reservations about a coup, particularly since he had never
really seen a “genuine alternative to Diem.” He also said
“we should stop playing cops and robbers and get back
to talking straight to the (Saigon government) . . . and
once again go about winning the war.”

But that was more easily said than done. For the next
five weeks the administration could come up with no real
policy.

About this time the administration faced still another
embarrassment. Madame Nhu, the glamorous “Tiger Lady”
and hostess at Diem’s state dinners, arrived from Europe
where she had been warmly received. But in Washington
her presence was greeted with outright dismay. Apparently
constrained by guilt and shame over the as yet unexecuted
conspiracy, the official bureaucracy, from Kennedy down,
refused to greet her. However her presence was acknowl-
edged by the State Department when it called a meeting of
editors asking that stories about her be buried among the
truss ads.

Meanwhile Kennedy began applying pressure by cutting
off various kinds of economic aid to South Vietnam.
Heartened by these developments, the Saigon generals
once again began to plot Diem’s downfall. And once again
Washington was interested.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 109

On October 6, 1963, the White House sent this message
to Lodge: “While we do not wish to stimulate coup, we
also do not wish to leave impression that U.S. would
thwart a change of government or deny economic and
military assistance to a new regime if it appeared capable
of increasing effectiveness of military effort, ensuring pop-
ular support to win war and improving working rela-
tions with U.S.”

At the same time the White House warned the ambassa-
dor and the CIA station chief “to preserve security” in
their contacts with the conspirators in order to preserve
“plausibility of denial.” The major CIA operative in South
Vietnam, Lieutenant Colonel Lucien Conein, had been
meeting secretly with such dissident generals as Duong Van
Minh to discuss toppling Diem. Minh, who became known
as “Big” Minh, had told Conein on October 5 that what
the anti-Diemists wanted was “American assurances that
the (United States) will not attempt to thwart” their plan.

On October 30, 1963, McGeorge Bundy cabled Lodge
that “once a coup under responsible leadership has begun
... it is in the interest of the U.S. Government that it
should succeed.”

Two days later, on November 1, 1963, the coup began.
The hypocrisy of the American position is illustrated by a
poignant excerpt from a cablegram from Lodge to the
State Department. It reported the last telephone conversa-
tion between Lodge and President Diem:

diem: Some units have made a rebellion and I want to
know what is the attitude of the U.S.?
lodge: I do not feel well enough informed to be able to
tell you. I have heard the shooting, but am not ac-
quainted with all the facts. Also it is 4:30 a.m. in Wash-
ington and the U.S. Government cannot possibly have
a view.

diem: But you must have some general ideas. After all, I
am a Chief of State. I have tried to do my duty. I want
to do now what duty and good sense require. I believe
in duty above all.

lodge: You have certainly done your duty. As I told you
only this morning, I admire your courage and your
great contributions to your country. No one can take
away from you the credit for all you have done. Now

110 VICTOR LASKY

I am worried about your physical safety. I have a report
that those in charge of the current activity offer you and
your brother safe conduct out of the country if you re-
sign. Have you heard this?

diem: No. (And then after a pause) You have my tele-
phone number.

lodge: Yes. If I can do anything for your physical safety,
please call me.

diem: I am trying to re-establish order.

But it was too late. While fighting was going on at the
palace, Diem and his brother Nhu escaped through a
secret tunnel and made their way to Cholon, the Chinese
quarter. The next day they surrendered to several armored
units. Soon afterward, hands cuffed behind them, they
were shot to death in the back of an armored car.

President Kennedy was reported to be shocked and dis-
mayed by the murders. But Madame Nhu, still in the
United States, accused him of having incited the coup. Said
the Tiger Lady: “If you have the Kennedy administra-
tion for an ally, you don’t need any enemy.”

“There could be no question,” Time reported in its
November 8, 1963, issue, “that the U.S. . . . had effective-
ly encouraged the overthrow of the Diem regime.” The
magazine reminded its readers that “only a few weeks
ago” President Kennedy, during a television interview with
Walter Cronkite, “argued that the winning of the war
against the Communist Viet Cong would probably require
‘changes in policy, and perhaps in personnel* in the Diem
Government.”

Three weeks after the murders in Saigon there was the
shocking murder in Dallas. And the Tiger Lady, bitter
over the assassinations of her husband and her bfother-
in-law, commented that justice had been served. Speaking
off-the-record to reporters at his Texas ranch shortly after
he took over the presidency, Lyndon Johnson said that his
predecessor’s death could be considered “some kind of
terrible retribution” for the deaths of Diem and Trujillo.

His U.S.-approved coup successful, “Big” Minh became
chief of state of South Vietnam. But, proving ineffectual,
he quit after three months, going into exile in Thailand.
In 1968 Marshal Thieu, by now the president, permitted
Minh to return to Saigon where he espoused a neutralist

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 111

line. In the final hours of a non-Communist South Viet-
nam he was once again sworn in as the chief executive.
But it was too late. The Communists refused to negotiate
with him. Rather than put up any further resistance, “Big”
Minh announced his country’s unconditional^ surrender.
Within hours Communist forces had penetrated the center
of Saigon. Finally the war was over. The United States
was deeply humiliated.

But questions created by the executions of Diem and
his brother remain. From the beginning there was an
attempt to cover up the complicity of the Kennedy admin-
istration. On his return to the United States in June 1964,
for example, Ambassador Lodge told The New York Times
that “the overthrow ... of the Diem regime was a purely
Vietnamese affair. We never participated in the planning.
We never gave any advice. We had nothing whatever to do
with it. . . . We had nothing to do with overthrowing
the government, and it’s — I shall always be loyal to Presi-
dent Kennedy’s memory on this, because I carried out his
policy ”

But his successor in Saigon, Maxwell D. Taylor, viewed
the episode somewhat differently. In the course of an
NBC Television interview General Taylor said in 1971:
“One of the most serious wrongs, in my judgment, was our
connivance at the overthrow of President Diem. Because
regardless of what you thought of President Diem, we had
absolutely nothing but chaos which followed. And it was
that chaos that I inherited — perhaps Homeric justice — in
the year I was Ambassador.”

Asked who in Washington had connived in the plot,
Taylor said: “Well, obviously, it has to be approved by
the President ... I would be sure that no American ever
wanted Diem assassinated, you understand. And it was
certainly a terrible shock to President Kennedy when that
developed. But the organization of coups and the execu-
tion of a coup is not like organizing a tea party; it’s a very
dangerous business.

“So I didn’t think we had any right to be surprised
when Diem and his brother were murdered.”

President Nixon himself never had any doubt about who
was behind the Diem murder. At a press conference on
September 16, 1971, he said: “I would remind all con-
cerned that the way we got into Vietnam was through over-

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VICTOR LASKY

throwing Diem and the complicity in the murder of
Diem ...”

Significantly Nixon’s remarks were accepted without the
usual fusillade of criticism. Even his detractors, many
of whom had been enamored of the New Frontier, realized
that Nixon was absolutely correct in his evaluation.

Nevertheless there was a ridiculous effort to gild the lily
on this question during the Nixon years. Without Nixon s
knowledge E. Howard Hunt, a retired CIA agent hired as
a special consultant at the White House, forged a number
of cables linking President Kennedy directly to Diem’s
assassination. And in hopes of promoting an article on the
subject, Hunt showed some of the phony cables to Wil-
liam Lambert of Life.

In his appearance before the Ervin Committee, Hunt
testified he had been asked to forge the documents by
Charles Colson, then a senior White House aide. But Col-
son contended that Hunt might have “misunderstood some-
thing I said to him.”

Why phony documents had to be manufactured is diffi-
cult to fathom, particularly since Hunt himself in his tes-
timony noted that “on the basis of the accumulated
evidence and the cable documentation,” which he had ob-
tained from the State Department, it was obvious that “the
Kennedy Administration was implicitly if not explicitly re-
sponsible for the assassination of Diem.”

Then, under questioning by Sam Dash, chief counsel of
the Watergate Committee, Hunt made a sensational dis-
closure. He testified that, in his examination of the cable
traffic between Washington and Saigon at the time of the
coup, he had discovered that “certain cables had been ab-
stracted from the files maintained by the Department of
State in chronological fashion. ...”

It was a disclosure which (perhaps not so surprisingly)
was overlooked by a media usually on the search for sensa-
tions. But it did raise some interesting questions that, to
this day, remain unanswered. Was a State Department in-
quiry launched as to who was responsible for the ab-
stracting”? If not, why not? Were the documents returned
to the archives or are they considered permanently miss-
ing?

In all probability these crucial papers were destroyed.
And one can only conjecture as to why this extraordinary

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 113

act of “paper-burning” took place. The idea quite obvious-
ly was to cover up the role of certain highly placed
Americans in the undermining and murder of a foreign
leader.

Which is probably as vicious a piece of business as the
forging of phony cables.

The pattern that emerges from all the illegal actions per-
petrated by the Kennedy administration abroad casts great
doubt on the thesis that such activities should be condoned
on the grounds of ‘‘national security” and anti-communism.
The two foreign leaders who wound up dead were them-
selves anti-Communists and American allies. The irony is
that the Communist Castro, who nearly plunged this coun-
try into a nuclear war with the Soviet Union, remains alive.

Still another irony: In 1975, while Castro was bitterly
complaining (via Senator McGovern) that the United
States had sought to kill him on numerous occasions, the
French government expelled several of his “diplomats” on
charges that they were involved with an Arab terrorist-
assassination ring.

Finally the Senate Intelligence Committee unveiled its
“Assassination Report.” Given the committee’s leadership,
and particularly a chairman who was panting to obtain
the Democratic nomination for President, it should have
come as no surprise that the Report would engage in verbal
gymnastics to cover the indelible trail of the “men of
style” who ruled the nation in the early sixties. The re-
port was thick with partisanship. It was protective of John
Kennedy. And it overreached in its conclusions involving
Eisenhower and Nixon.

Well, even by the material disclosed in the Report, it
would appear that G. Gordon Liddy was a piker. Hit men.
Mafiosi contacts. Kennedy and brother Bobby standing in
the cabinet room “chewing out” a CIA official for “sitting
on his ass and not doing anything about getting rid of
Castro and the Castro regime.” The committee record
bristles with such talk as “get rid of,” “knock off,” “elim-
inate,” and “slashing” the Cuban dictator. But, as Rich-
ard J. Walton has observed, because the committee was not
able to find a “smoking gun,” it “brought the accusation
right to President John F. Kennedy’s door” yet “did not
open the door.”

“In not quite accusing President Kennedy, the Com-

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VICTOR LASKY

mittee was aided by another factor,” wrote Walton on the
Op-Ed page of The New York Times. “With Mr. Nixon,
the press was in full cry, helping the public become con-
vinced that President Nixon was guilty. But that has not
been so with Mr. Kennedy.”

Still, even the record could leave little doubt that the
subject of assassination was discussed by or in the presence
of Secretary of Defense McNamara, National Security Ad-
viser Bundy, and Robert F. Kennedy, the President’s alter
ego. And the evidence also clearly indicates that the CIA
was operating on the logical assumption that the President
wanted Castro removed by any means necessary. More-
over there can be no argument that JFK knew what was
going on. In his Oval Office conversation with Senator
Smathers, the President had observed he was certain the
Castro assassination could be accomplished. While all of
this may not constitute a “smoking gun,” as Richard
Walton pointed out, it adds up to “a pretty solid case.”

Unable totally to exonerate President Kennedy, the
Church Committee relied on what during the Watergate
era was to become known as the everybody-does-it con-
tention. Thus, through the art of juxtaposition, the clearly
more prominent connection of J FK with assassination plots
was deliberately diluted by references to Eisenhower and
Nixon.

According to the Report, the committee found evidence
to permit “a reasonable inference that the plot to assassi-
nate [Patrice] Lumumba [of the Congo] was authorized by
President Eisenhower.” Then came this caveat: “There is
enough countervailing testimony by Eisenhower Adminis-
tration officials and enough ambiguity and lack of clarity
... to preclude the Committee from making a finding
that the President intended an assassination effort against
Lumumba.” As it turned out, Lumumba was indeed killed
in early 1961 by Congolese rivals. “It does not appear that
the U.S. was in any way involved in the killing.”

The “reasonable inference” was based on the uncorrob-
orated testimony of Robert H. Johnson, who had been a
notetaker at the only two NSC sessions at which Eisen-
hower was present during his entire administration. Dur-
ing one of those sessions, Johnson first testified: “President
Eisenhower said something — I can no longer remember his
words — that came across to me as an order for the assassi-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 115

nation of Lumumba . . . there was no discussion; the meet-
ing simply moved on.” Later in his testimony, Johnson
said: “I must confess that in thinking about the incident
more recently I have had some doubts.”

Needless to say, that kind of evidence is less than com-
pelling, and certainly does not support any “reasonable
inference” — particularly in view of the fact that all Ei-
senhower’s top advisers flatly and angrily denied the John-
son story. Retired general Andrew J. Goodpaster, Ike’s
chief military adviser, informed Church that there had been
no single instance “within my knowledge and memory”
of an assassination “course of action” proposed to or by
Eisenhower either in or outside NSC meetings. Similar
testimony came from Gordon Gray, Ike’s national security
assistant.

Equally weak was the strained effort to drag Nixon into
the committee Report. What better way to fuzz up damn-
ing evidence about the Kennedy administration than to
haul in the name of the disgraced President? According
to the Report, General Rene Schneider, commander in
chief of Chile’s army, was killed while resisting a kid-
napping attempt in October 1970. The previous month
Nixon had ordered the CIA “to play a direct role in or-
ganizing a military coup in Chile to prevent [Salvador]
Allende’s accession to* the presidency.” But even the Re-
port acknowledges that there was no assassination plot.
There was not even a coup attempt, for Allende had not
yet assumed power. Schneider’s death was totally unfore-
seen and unexpected, and there were no U.S. orders to
“get rid” of him, as the Report itself concedes. More point-
edly the general was not even a head of state, as were all
others who were included in the committee’s inquiry.

The use of covert actions and funds to prevent Allende’s
accession to power was hardly in the same league as putting
out a contract on Castro with Mafia “hit men.” Moreover,
though Church seemed to ignore the evidence, such covert
actions had been begun under John Kennedy’s directions.
As former CIA Director McCone put it to Fortune writer
Charles J. V. Murphy: “As early as 1962 President Ken-
nedy had decided in the National Security Council that the
Agency should see to it that Castro’s agitators did not
take Chile into the Communist camp under Allende’s ban-
ner. In 1964, that decision was confirmed by President

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VICTOR LASKY

Johnson.” Later Nixon was to disclose that Kennedy and
Johnson had expended\“approximately four million dollars
on behalf of Mr. Allende’s opponents and had prevented
Mr. Allende from becoming President in the early sixties.”*
But probably the committee’s most closely guarded secret
was President Kennedy’s link, albeit indirect, to the Mafia.
Nevertheless the secret was hinted at on page 129 of its
Assassination Report. “Evidence before the Committee in-
dicates that a close friend of President Kennedy had fre-
quent contact with the President from the end of 1960
through mid- 1962. FBI reports and testimony indicate the
President’s friend was also a close friend of John Roselli
and Sam Giancana and saw them often during this same
period.” According to a footnote: “White House telephone
logs show seventy instances of phone contact between the
White House and the President’s friend whose testimony
confirms frequent phone contact with the President him-
self. Both the President’s friend and Roselli testified that
the friend did not know about either the (Castro) as-
sassination operation or the wire tap case.** Giancana
was killed before he was available for questioning.”

And there the matter would have rested, had it not
been for investigative reporters Dan Thomasson and Tim
Wyngaard of Scripps-Howard, who discovered that “the
President’s friend” was a beautiful girl who divided her
time between the leadership of the underworld and the
President of the United States. Though their story was of
Pulitzer Prize dimensions, it was not picked up elsewhere
— until Church blundered. Angered by what he considered
leaks from within the Intelligence Committee, he and
Senator Gary Hart set up a plumbers’ type operation seek-
ing to discover the source, complete with threats of perjury
and warnings of lie-detector tests. One wonders, in retro-
spect, whether the senators would have been so concerned
about leaks had the story involved Nixon.

By then Bill Satire was onto the story. The columnist ac-
cused the Church Committee of a “cover up” for neglect-
ing to dwell at any length on the sex, age, professional ex-

♦None of which, incidentally, was disclosed by either Schlesinger or
Sorensen in their adulatory accounts of the Kennedy years.

♦♦The “wire tap case” involved Giancana, caught in the process of
bugging a motel room occupied by an unfaithful girlfriend who had
been carrying on with a Las Vegas comedian.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 117

perience, and gangland connections of Judith Campbell
Exner. There no longer was any way of containing the
story Church and his fellow senators (including some
Republicans) had sought so desperately to bottle up.

“Why should Church do that?” asked Nicholas von
Hoffman.

A partisan inclination to keep the coffin lid shut so
that we may believe in dead Democrats? Or a dread at
what may go on in people’s heads when they find out
they have no heroes alive or dead? Church may have
made the decision the lie must be preserved, not for
votes, not for party advantage, but because he’s scared
we can’t take it if we’re told whatever the hell went
on with the Kennedys.

Can we take not knowing? It was always whispered
that Kennedy’s old man had gangster connections.
And the son? Was he President or Hoodlum Prince?
The question is out: Did Kennedy have the dignity of
dying the victim of a madman or a political assassin
or was Dallas just another gangland slaying?

. . . Tell us, all you folks who’ve written so many,
many books about those golden one thousand days
when you all swarmed out of Harvard, Madison
Avenue and Stamford, Connecticut, to electrify us
with your good taste. Tell us again, please, but now
put in about the gangsters and whatever else was cor-
rupt, ruthless, cruel and illegal but which really hap-
pened. No more Camelot, please.

In faraway Austria Pierre Salinger told reporters that
the Kennedy allegations were actually designed to wipe
out Ted Kennedy’s presidential chances, and he sug-
gested that the stories were being spread by “supporters of
former President Nixon ... a case of sour grapes.”

In San Clemente, meanwhile, Richard Nixon telephoned
a friend to say that he was “terribly concerned” about the
new revelations concerning John Kennedy. “They can only
do further damage to the institution of the presidency it-
self,” said the former President. There are some things, he
suggested, that are better not known.

NINE

In his book on the “curious” death of Marilyn Monroe,
Robert Slatzer tells of reading sections of a diary kept by
the actress. There was one entry which read: “Bobby told
me today, ‘I want to put that S.O.B. Jimmy Hoffa into jail,
no matter how I do it.* ”

Well, Bobby finally accomplished what often appeared to
be the Kennedys’ major aim in public life — “getting” Hoffa.
The Teamsters’ leader had long headed the brothers*
“enemies list.’* For one thing Jack Kennedy had invariably
made him a campaign issue. All through the 1960 cam-
paign the future President would frequently wonder out
loud why a Republican administration had not put Hoffa
into jail. Hoffa’s civil liberties were of little concern to the
Kennedys and, for that matter, to most of their supporters.

Hoffa first came into the lives of the Kennedys in the
mid-fifties during the course of the Senate hearings into
labor racketeering. Bobby was chief counsel of the com-
mittee headed by Senator John McClellan of Arkansas.
Almost from the beginning Bobby’s pursuit of Hoffa had
all the hallmarks of a personal vendetta. The Teamsters
leader, unlike others questioned by Bobby, never relied on
the Fifth Amendment, which would have permitted him to
refuse to answer questions on the grounds that his testi-
mony might tend to incriminate him. And this annoyed
Bobby no end.

But even more annoying was the way the cocky labor
leader would beat Bobby down in any of their well-
publicized arguments. Hoffa would deliberately go out of
his way to irritate his inquisitor. As he told me in his
Washington office in August 1966, “Oh, I used to love to
bug that little bastard. Whenever Bobby would get tangled
up in one of his involved questions, I would wink at him.
That invariably got him. ‘Mr. Chairman,’ he’d shout, ‘would

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 119

you please instruct the witness to stop making faces at
me?’ ”

Hoffa laughed and laughed.

No doubt Hoffa’s “smartass” tactics did infuriate Bobby.
As Professor Monroe Freedman, writing on the subject of
“Prosecutorial Ethics” in the Georgetown Law Journal ,
noted:

From the day that James Hoffa told Robert Ken-
nedy that he was nothing but a rich man’s kid who
never had to earn a nickel in his life, Hoffa was a
marked man. When Kennedy became Attorney Gen-
eral, satisfying this grudge became the public policy
of the United States, and Hoffa, along with Roy Cohn
and perhaps other enemies from Kennedy’s past, was
singled out for special attention by United States At-
torneys. This is, of course, the very antithesis of the
rule of law, and serves to bring into sharp focus the
ethical obligation of the prosecutor to refrain from
abusing his power by prosecutions that are directed
at individuals rather than at crimes.

Bobby had many “enemies.” But none obsessed him
more than James Riddle Hoffa, who had often humiliated
him in public. There was to be no forgetting. And, in-
evitably, Bobby was to have the last laugh.

Hardly had the New Frontier been established on the
banks of the Potomac when Robert Kennedy organized a
special investigations unit within the Justice Department
which had one major assignment — nailing Hoffa.

The new group in many repects resembled one that was
to be organized under Richard Nixon in 1971 — the so-
called plumbers formed within the White House to con-
centrate on “getting” Daniel Ellsberg.

To head the “Get Hoffa” squad, the Attorney General
named one of his old Senate investigators, former FBI
agent Walter Sheridan. The squad, if anything, was a
curiosity within the Department if only because Sheridan
was not a lawyer. But Sheridan did have direct access to
the Attorney General and, in the bureaucratic world of
Washington, that meant clout with a capital C.

Probably the best analysis of this unprecedented group can
be found in Victor Navasky’s Kennedy Justice , a not un-

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VICTOR LASKY

friendly appraisal of Kennedy’s tenure as Attorney Gen-
eral.* The “Get Hoff a” squad, wrote Navasky,

was staffed by men whose experience for the most part
was investigative rather than legal. ... Its men were
on twenty-four-hour call. It had constant access to,
and the interest and wholehearted support, of the At-
torney General. It had free access to the files of the
McClellan Committee. It was in touch with grand
juries throughout the country. It had an undercover
air of mystery about it. Its modus operandi was cloak
and dagger. . . . And unlike every other unit of the
Justice Department, which is organized around subject
areas of responsibility, the Sheridan unit’s raison d'etre
seemed to be not a subject area but a target: Jimmy
Hoffa. Its relations with the FBI were highly irregular
in that it received little or no cooperation from the
top, yet Sheridan, an ex-FBI man, had a degree of
line cooperation in the field that was, in some re-
spects, unparalleled. He actually coordinated FBI
agents with his own men — told them where to go
when, and they went. . . . Since Sheridan was, in a
sense, intruding on FBI turf, the situation was highly
irregular.

As Charles Shaffer, an eager squad member, said: “Some
people say Kennedy was out to get Hoffa. Well, let me tell
you, they are one hundred percent right. . . . And Bobby
couldn’t wait. He asked when was the earliest I could
start. I said two calendar months. He said be here Monday.
I said I couldn’t possibly. I had cases to clean up, work,
obligations, family. ... He said a week from Monday and
that was that.”

Almost anything went in this frenzied effort, even the
violation of the Teamsters boss’s civil rights. A few journal-
ists — they were few and far between — did perceive the
menacing aspects of the anti-Hoffa crusade. Columnist
Richard Starnes, for example, commented in The New
York World-Telegram & Sun: “For all I know, Hoffa may
be guilty of wholesale mopery. But is the Attorney Gen-
eral entitled to dedicate the immense power of the federal

♦(New York: Atheneum, 1971), p. 404.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 121

government to chucking him in jail? I’ve followed Hoffa’s
career with some passing interest, and all I can swear to
of my own knowledge is that he makes lousy speeches. He
may set fire to orphan asylums for kicks, but does this de-
prive him of the right to due process?”

And later on, writing in The Village Voice, Nat Hentoff
recalled “Robert Kennedy’s transmogrification of the grand
jury system (in) his pursuit of Jimmy Hoff a in the manner
of an eighteenth-century legal adviser to the czar.”

The pursuit was relentless. “I knew where Hoffa was
twenty-four hours a day,” Sheridan bragged. Hoffa him-
self was convinced, as he told me, that he was being fol-
lowed everywhere by FBI agents, that his phones were
tapped, mail opened, and that electronic listening devices
were beamed on him from half a mile away. Moreover, he
claimed, FBI agents posed as bellhops, desk clerks, maids,
and doormen at hotels where the Teamsters held their con-
ventions. The IRS combed his tax returns as well as those
of other union officials. And anyone who did business with
them found themselves subjected to IRS inquisitions.

Most liberals, however, cheered when Hoffa finally was
convicted on the kind of evidence which, if used against
the likes of Dan Ellsberg, would have occasioned out-
raged protests on the part of the American Civil Liberties
Union.

Robert Kennedy was so delighted with the guilty verdict
that he threw a party for the “Get Hoffa” squad in
Georgetown. His loyalists presented the Attorney General
with a leather wallet embossed with the very words the
jury foreman uttered when he announced the verdict.

The campaign to “get” Hoffa involved both infiltration
of the Teamsters and use of a personal friend as a paid
informer — the sort of things liberals are usually so up in
arms against. The informer was Edward Grady Partin,
whose twenty-year criminal record included everything
from breaking and entering to rape. After making a deal
with Sheridan, Partin was sprung from a Baton Rouge,
Louisiana, cell, even though the FBI considered him highly
unreliable. Following his release, Partin insinuated him-
self into Hoffa’s entourage, becoming a bartender, errand
boy, bag carrier, and general factotum, and all the time
telling Bobby’s boys what Hoffa was saying and doing.
Eventually Hoffa was found guilty on a charge of jury

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VICTOR LASKY

tampering. Partin’s testimony, which proved critical in ob-
taining the conviction, included details of Hoffa’s conversa-
tions with his attorney — conversations which Hoffa quite
correctly believed were confidential and whose revelations
by a paid government agent could arguably be seen as a
violation of the Sixth Amendment’s guarantee of right to
counsel. Yet there was no public outcry at the time about
the government’s “shoddy” tactics, nor were there any
frenzied shouts about our liberties being imperiled. Rather
the predominant reaction was that a somewhat unsavory
labor boss with Republican links had gotten his just due.

Even the Supreme Court, dominated by liberal justices,
later upheld the conviction. With only Chief Justice Warren
dissenting, the High Court rejected Hoffa’s contention that
Partin’s presence in his camp was the human equivalent of
an electronic bug. In his dissent, Warren noted:

“Here the Government reaches into the jailhouse to
employ a man who was himself facing indictments far
more serious (and later including one for perjury) than
the one confronting the man against whom he offered to
inform. It employed him not for the purpose of testifying
to something that had already happened, but, rather, for
the purpose of infiltration, to see if crimes would in the fu-
ture be committed. The Government in its zeal even as-
sisted him in gaining a position from which he could be a
witness to the confidential relationship of attorney and
client engaged in the preparation of a criminal defense.
And, for the dubious evidence thus obtained, the Govern-
ment paid an enormous price. Certainly if a criminal de-
fendant insinuated his informer into the prosecution’s camp
in this manner he would be guilty of obstructing justice. I
cannot agree that what happened in this case is in keep-
ing with the standards of justice in our federal system
and I must, therefore, dissent.”

Hoffa himself, commenting in November 1974, con-
tended that Watergate was tame compared to what the “Get
Hoffa” squad did to nail him.

Another aspect of the anti-Hoffa crusade is worth noting,
particularly in view of Charles Colson’s later plea of guilty
to a charge of obstructing justice, in that he had sought to
defame Ellsberg by releasing unfavorable publicity about a
man under indictment. Robert Kennedy had absolutely no
compunction about arranging for derogatory articles on

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 123

Hoffa to be published in such national magazines as Life ,
and he authorized “background” papers to be covertly fed
to certain favored reporters. Obviously such tactics con-
stituted, as Victor Navasky noted, “potential interference
with the rights of the accused and even of the not-yet-
accused.” For using such tactics in the Nixon years, Colson
went to jail.

Similar sordid practices were engaged in by Kennedy
against his old and bitter foe, Roy Cohn. This was a feud
which went back to the days when both were young, anti-
communist, and rivals for the approval of the late Senator
Joseph McCarthy. As Freedman had noted in the George-
town Law Journal , from the moment Kennedy became At-
torney General he singled out Cohn (along with Hoffa and
others) for special attention by U.S. attorneys. After two
trials on charges of obstruction and perjury in a stock
fraud case, Cohn was acquitted.

Later it was disclosed that Cohn had been the subject
of a “mail cover,” a procedure whereby the Post Office
scrutinizes the outside of envelopes to find out with whom
certain individuals are corresponding. (In later years the
Rockefeller Commission condemned the CIA for indulging
in this practice.) At the same time it was disclosed that
the Attorney General had been instrumental in placing an-
other derogatory article in Life , entitled “Roy Cohn: Is
He a Liar Under Oath?” Senator Edward V. Long, the
Missouri Democrat who held hearings on the episode, said,
“This thing smells to high heaven.” And the Chicago
Tribune said that the practice of an Attorney General in
promoting prejudicial magazine pieces about individuals
under federal indictment called for “the fullest kind of in-
vestigation by the responsible committees in Congress. It
is one of the most serious charges ever made against a high
officer of Government.”

But by that time Kennedy was a U.S. senator, and he
got away with it. The Democratic-controlled Senate com-
mittee was not interested in following through.

During his long, and eventually unsuccessful, battle to
remain out of prison, Hoffa insisted that he had been con-
sistently wiretapped and/or bugged by “Bobby’s boys.” But
he could never prove it. The Attorney General himself
emphatically denied any such activities. But there can be
little doubt that, while he was with the McClellan Com-

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VICTOR LASKY

mittee, Kennedy was not above using wiretaps. To him
they were necessary weapons — and he got away with it.
For few civil libertarians seemed to care when he would
open hearings with transcripts and/or recordings of private
telephone conversations. In his memoir With Kennedy,
Pierre Salinger narrates with evident satisfaction how he,
as one of Bobby’s investigators, invaded a union official’s
home in Seattle without a warrant to search for missing
Teamsters records. The story, which also involves the se-
duction of a maid, is funny, but it does raise a question as
to the propriety or even legality of the tactics used by
Bobby’s people in the pursuit of evidence.

Kennedy’s denial of wiretapping in the Hoffa case was
not bought by all newsmen. Walter Trohan, the veteran
Chicago Tribune correspondent who had close ties to both
Lyndon Johnson and J. Edgar Hoover, stated flatly that
Kennedy “set up an extensive wiretap group under his own
command in the Department of Justice. The group was
headed by three men. One of these was given a job in the
Justice Department, a second was placed on the White
House payroll of his brother, the late John F. Kennedy,
and the third was put on the payroll of the Immigration
and Naturalization Service.”

In addition to wiretaping, a great deal of “bugging” —
that is, eavesdropping with microphone-type listening de-
vices — also occurred during the Kennedy years. Some of
it came to light after Robert Kennedy had won election as
senator. The revelations were to prove intensely embarrass-
ing to Kennedy who, in seeking eventually to become his
party’s presidential standardbearer, was busily cultivating
the liberal community which, for the most part, had a de-
cided distaste for electronic surveillance.

Probably the most sensational case involved Fred B.
Black, Jr., a former next-door neighbor of Lyndon John-
son and a business associate of LBJ’s former “right-hand
man” in the Senate, Bobby Baker. Black had been con-
victed in a tax evasion case. Things looked pretty black for
Black, he told me, until one day the maid who was clean-
ing a hospitality suite he kept at the Sheraton-Carlton Hotel
told him that several “repairmen” had come in and in-
stalled something near a lamp. Sure enough, it was a
“bug.” Black called his attorney.

This forced the Justice Department to move. On May

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 125

24, 1966, Solicitor General Thurgood Marshall filed a
memorandum with the Supreme Court which disclosed
that early in 1963, at about the time a Missouri grand jury
was listening to evidence against Black, the FBI had
“bugged” his hotel suite. Accounts of Black’s conversations
with his lawyers, among other things, were passed on to
Justice officials. Other references in the taped conversa-
tions had to do with Lyndon Johnson. These too were
passed on to Justice and presumably to Bobby himself; at
least Johnson thought so. Eventually the Supreme Court
vacated Black’s conviction and ordered a new trial.

Kennedy’s office issued a statement asserting that the
senator had no knowledge of the “bugging” of Black’s suite.
In effect he placed the onus on the FBI.

Almost as if he were waiting for the opportunity, Hoover
struck back by releasing documents proving that Ken-
nedy had authorized all sorts of electronic surveillances
in “both security and major criminal cases.” In a letter to
Congressman H. R. Gross, the FBI director had this to
say:

Mr. Kennedy, during his term of office, exhibited
great interest in pursuing such matters and, while in
different metropolitan areas, not only listened to the
results of microphone surveillances [bugging] but
raised questions relative to obtaining better equip-
ment. He was briefed frequently by an FBI official re-
garding such matters. FBI usage of such devices,
while always handled in a sparing, carefully controlled
manner and, as indicated, only with the specific au-
thority of the Attorney General, was obviously in-
creased at Mr. Kennedy’s insistence while he was in
office.

Kennedy continued to deny that he knew what was go-
ing on inside the FBI as Attorney General. But documents
signed by Kennedy himself were there to dispute him. And
then Edwyn Silberling, chief of Justice’s Organized Crime
section when Kennedy reigned supreme, told Les Whitten
that despite his claim to the contrary, Bobby was well aware
of FBI “bugging” practices. Silberling recalled a meeting
at which Kennedy urged the FBI to use more “technical
equipment” to smash the rackets. The meeting took place

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VICTOR LASKY

in the Attorney General’s fifth-floor office. Among those
present was Courtney Evans, the FBI’s liaison with Ken-
nedy. “Everybody at the meeting knew (Kennedy) was
talking about electronic surveillance — parabolic micro-
phones, spike microphones, bugs — that is micro-transmit-
ters — the whole thing,” said Silberling.

Observing the well-publicized contretemps between Ken-
nedy and Hoover was Lyndon Johnson. And there could
be no doubt that the President was savoring every mo-
ment of Bobby’s discomfiture. LBJ’s dislike of the junior
senator was hardly any secret. For one thing, as he once
informed Justice William O. Douglas, he had reason to be-
lieve his own phones had been tapped. This apparently had
occurred during his vice presidency and LBJ held Bobby
responsible.

At any rate in his January 1967 State of the Union mes-
sage Johnson hit hard at all wiretapping and bugging, pub-
lic and private, “except when the security of the nation
itself is at stake.” Sitting sphinxlike, Bobby Kennedy was the
only person within range of the TV camera who did not
applaud when LBJ denounced electronic “bugging” and
“snooping.” Of course LBJ’s fixation on the subject did not
deter him from ordering “snooping” on his own political
opponents.

In the final weeks of his life Kennedy was again to be
embarrassed by the wiretapping issue. He was then engaged
in primary contests with Senator Eugene McCarthy and,
with the 1968 Democratic presidential nomination at stake,
they were going after each other hot and heavy. From
out of the blue Drew Pearson broke the story that Ken-
nedy, as Attorney General, had authorized the tapping of
Martin Luther King’s telephones. According to the colum-
nist Kennedy’s reason for giving the go-ahead to the FBI
was that the civil rights leader had been “in touch with
various Communists and was being influenced by them.”

Asked by newsmen for comment, Kennedy refused to
confirm or deny the story. Instead he sought to evade
questions. But he was put on the spot in a television debate
with his rival when McCarthy asked Bobby whether or not
he had ordered the tap on Dr. King, as disclosed by Pear-
son. Kennedy’s response was that as the nation’s chief law
officer he had authorized wiretapping procedures in “na-
tional security” cases; but that, by law, he could not dis-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 127

cuss any such cases. To the uninitiated it could have
sounded like a denial.

The truth which Kennedy sought to evade, but which
ultimately emerged, was that he had indeed approved the
wiretapping of King as well as of other Black leaders. And
the irony was that only weeks before his debate with Mc-
Carthy, Kennedy had chartered a plane to return King’s
body from Memphis, where the civil rights leader had been
slain, to his home city of Atlanta. The episode had been
well publicized, as was Kennedy’s appearance at the
funeral.

Before long Kennedy himself was dead. But his legacy
lives on. As Nicholas von Hoffman put it in the Washing-
ton Post just as Watergate began to break wide open,

Is the Watergate bugging any more of an affront to
civil liberties than the Martin Luther King bugging?
That was done under John Kennedy, and ordered by
his brother, an Attorney General who was as savage
in his own way as John Mitchell was in his. Can the
Kennedy use of the FBI to intimidate the U.S. Steel
Corp. into a price rollback be defended by anyone
with a respect for our basic laws?

Except for mavericks like Von Hoffman, few liberals
were overly concerned about the violations of the rights of
a major steel corporation. Nor did many liberals rush to
the defense of Otto F. Otepka when the State Department
announced its intention to dismiss him as its chief security
evaluations officer on charges he had given confidential
documents to the Senate Internal Security Subcommittee.
Otepka remained on the payroll, however, during a long
series of appeals. In March 1969, after years of bitter strug-
gle to preserve his honor as a dedicated civil servant, Presi-
dent Nixon appointed him to a $36,000-a-year job with the
Subversive Activities Control Board.*

The Otepka case was a stunner, for it involved harass-
ment, illegal bugging, wiretapping, personal surveillance,
and perjured confessions. But liberal anger that time around

♦The full, authoritative account of this case is contained in The
Ordeal of Otto Otepka by William J. Gill (New Rochelle, N.Y.2
Arlington House, 1969).

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VICTOR LASKY

was reserved for the victim of these governmental abuses,
and not their perpetrators.

Otepka was a career official who had been subpoenaed
to testify before the Senate subcommittee on certain laxities
in the administration of the State Department’s employee
security program. A longtime expert in his field, Otepka
gave his frank opinion on a high Kennedy appointee and
refused to change his report. In so doing, he aroused the
wrath of Robert Kennedy with whom he had previously
discussed the case. From that moment he was a marked
man.

Refusing to capitulate to all sorts of pressures, Otepka
stood his ground. When State Department higher-ups flatly
denied his allegations, Otepka produced documents from
his files which effectively corroborated his testimony. As
noted in the subcommittee’s report: “Mr. Otepka furnished
copies of the document ... to illustrate security pro-
cedures and to prove that his superior had lied under oath
to this subcommittee concerning security procedures . . .
the State Department was trying to hide a new policy of
phasing out effective security procedures. . . . Quite sim-
ply, Otepka and a small band of associates were in the
way.”

There began a campaign of persecution with few par-
allels in the annals of the civil service. Branded an “enemy”
of the Kennedy administration, Otepka was demoted from
his job, deprived of a portion of his staff, and moved out
of his office. Ultimately he was placed under “criminal
charges” on the extraordinary contention that by furnish-
ing a Senate committee with data concerning lax State De-
partment security practices, he himself had violated De-
partment security practices.

A “Get Otepka” squad had done its dirty work. Con-
sisting of State Department officials, the group included
Elmer Dewey Hill, David I. Belisle, and John F. Reilly —
the last a former Justice Department lawyer who got his
job at State on the recommendation of Bobby’s executive
assistant.

Later it was learned that, on his arrival at State, Reilly
had been briefed about the nettling problem of “leaks” to
Senate investigators. His mission was to stop them. As he
was quoted as saying at the time, “I was sent over here to
do a job and by God I’m going to do it.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 129

And by God he certainly tried. The measures taken by
the Kennedy “plumbers” included almost every form of
illegality in the book, such as breaking into Otepka’s office,
cracking open his office safe, ransacking his trash bag, bug-
ging his room, and wiretapping his phones. But when ques-
tioned about all of this under oath, Reilly, Hill, and Belisle
not only made broad categorical denials that they had
ever done such things; they denied that they ever knew
about them.

However, when they learned the subcommittee had inde-
pendent evidence of their crimes, the witnesses switched
their story. Hill, playing much the same role as did John
Dean in the Watergate controversy, testified as follows:
“Mr. John F. Reilly, Deputy Assistant Secretary for Se-
curity, asked me to explore the possibility of arranging
some way to eavesdrop on conversations taking place in
Mr. Otepka’s office. Mr. Reilly explained to me that he
would only consider such a technique if other investigative
methods failed. . . . That evening Mr. Schneider and I
altered the existing wiring in the telephone in Mr. Otepka’s
office. We then established a circuit from Mr. Otepka’s
office to the Division of Technical Services Laboratory by
making additional connections in the existing telephone
wiring system. . . .” And he went on and on and on.

Reilly and Belisle eventually admitted that they had wire-
tapped Otepka’s phone as well as bugged his office. But
they insisted that their previous denials under oath had
been justified because “static” on the wire made their efforts
“ineffective.” Yet even this explanation was false. For Hill
later admitted that he, Reilly, and Belisle had listened to
about a dozen recordings made of Otepka’s conversations.
Hill also testified that he had given the recordings to an
unidentified man who met him in a State Department cor-
ridor. But Reilly later testified he had no recollection of the
recordings or even such conversations with Hill.

In the face of all this criminality, including lyin| under
oath, the Justice Department under Kennedy refused to
take any action such as prosecuting outright perjurers.
And what was the liberal reaction? Zilch. The media
couldn’t have cared less; there were no cries for the in-
carceration of the culprits, impeachment or, at the very
least, resignation.

What did happen to those worthies? Secretary of State

130

VICTOR LASKY

Rusk, under whom all these shenanigans had taken place,
forced the resignation of Elmer Dewey Hill, who was the
first to tell all. But the Secretary was a lot more lenient with
Belisle, who was not only kept at State but actually pro-
moted. Reilly, the Howard Hunt of the pre-Watergate
“plumbers,” was permitted to resign without a blemish re-
corded in his file, and somehow the administration ar-
ranged for this wiretapper to be given a well-paying FCC
job as a hearing examiner.

The big joke is that, in more recent testimony before a
Senate subcommittee, Dean Rusk voiced strong feelings
against some of the tactics employed by the Nixon admin-
istration in the name of national security. The former Sec-
retary also flatly denied that he knew anything about eaves-
dropping or wiretapping of any State Department employ-
ees during the Kennedy or Johnson administrations. He
said he would have quit as Secretary had such evil things
been done.

But, as the Pulitzer Prize-winning correspondent for the
Cowles newspapers, Clark Mollenhoff, pointed out, it was
“a burst of self-righteousness totally out of character with
(Rusk’s) active role in the cover-up in the Otepka case.
. . . Thousands of pages of testimony ... on the infamous
ordeal of Otepka demonstrate that the Secretary of State
knew of the controversy over the illegal wiretapping and
night entry of Otepka’s safe. Rusk also took an active part
in covering up for the indiviudals engaged in the shameful
efforts to frame Otepka. . . .”

Mollenhoff accused Rusk of either having

an exceedingly bad memory or (having) engaged in
an intentional misrepresentation to the Congress. . . •
Repetition of the documented story of Rusk’s respon-
sibility in the Otepka matter isn’t intended to minimize
crimes of Nixon administration officials. Rather, it dem-
onstrates that lack of integrity in high places is not
a characteristic unique to this administration.

Incidentally,, it also points up that important seg-
ments of the press and television were considerably
less aggressive in dealing with such evidence of abuse
of executive power when it was done by officials of
the Kennedy and Johnson administrations.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 131

Throughout Otepka’s lengthy ordeal the major organs
of the Eastern Establishment, most notably The New York
Times and the Washington Post , treated him like some
sort of leper who threatened the survival of democracy.
The Times unloosed several bitter attacks on Otepka as
being not only reprehensible but dangerous, observing on
one occasion that “orderly procedures are essential if the
vital division of power between the legislative and execu-
tive branches is not to be undermined. The use of ‘under-
ground* methods to obtain classified documents from low-
er-level officials is a dangerous departure from orderly
procedures.’*

A decade later this very same newspaper won the Pulit-
zer Prize for receiving and publishing highly classified
documents siphoned from the Pentagon; and it is the same
newspaper which pounded the Nixon administration for
doing to Ellsberg exactly what the Kennedy administration
did to Otepka. When it had its own ideological chore to
perform, the value of “orderly procedures” was somehow
diminished. Obviously the Times ' s logic was affected by the
fact that Otepka was a political conservative, while Ells-
berg was a man whose deeds conformed with the Times ' s
list to the left.

At the height of the controversy the Washington Post
too charged that what Otepka did was “unlawful” and “un-
conscionable.” The paper explained that “he gave classified
information to someone not authorized to receive it ... he
had no authority to give it. . . . If any underling in the
State Department were free at his own discretion to dis-
close confidential cables or if any agent of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation could leak the contents of secret
files whenever he felt like it, the executive branch of gov-
ernment would have no security at all.”

The irony, of course, is that during its coverage of
Watergate the Post relied on what it termed a high-level
source within the government which it affectionately nick-
named “Deep Throat.” And won a Pulitzer Prize for that
coverage.

TEN

On April 1, 1975, George B. Parr, the Democratic boss
of Duval County, Texas, was found dead in a pasture of
his south Texas ranch with a bullet wound in his head.
Though no note was found, a local justice of the peace
ruled that the death had been a suicide. Parr, a former
millionaire oilman, banker, and deputy sheriff, had been
facing a prison term for income tax evasion.

Except for a dispatch in The New York Times the story
of Parr’s death received little attention in the nation’s
media. Yet his was a name to remember, especially at a
time of furor over electoral shenanigans. For without
George Berham Parr, Lyndon Baines Johnson would not
have become President of the United States.

The year was 1948. Johnson, an obscure congressman
opposed to President Truman’s civil rights program and a
supporter of what he called “the anti-Communist Taft-
Hartley labor bill,” was running for the Democratic Senate
nomination in Texas. In those days obtaining the Dem-
ocratic nomination was tantamount to election in the Lone
Star State.

Johnson ran against the Dixiecrat governor Coke Steven-
son and several others. When the returns were in, the
popular Stevenson had 71,000 more votes than Johnson but
he lacked a majority in the crowded field. This necessitated
a runoff. In the runoff Johnson again trailed Stevenson —
or so everyone thought. But then Parr came into the pic-
ture.

To understand the significance of this, one must under-
stand the significance of Parr. This dapper little man with
the cold green eyes ruled three counties in southeast Texas
with an iron hand — Duval, Jim Wells, and Zapata. This
oil-rich brush country was an area inhabited largely by
Mexican- Americans. Parr paid their poll taxes, got them

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 133

jobs, was generous with gifts to their sick and needy, and
voted them like cattle. Parr also collected large payoffs
from construction companies doing business in his baili-
wick, houses of ill repute and moonshine and gambling
businesses. In 1936, he went to prison on an income tax
rap.

Parr, who rarely appeared in public unless surrounded
by tough, unshaven Mexican pistoleros , never let any of
his “constituents” forget who was El Jefe, It literally was
suicide to oppose him; and hardly anyone tried. As the
Times noted, “Only Federal agents and Texas rangers ever
successfully questioned his authority. Others who did took
their lives in their hands. At least two men were shot to
death by deputy sheriffs loyal to Parr.” Other brutal deaths
were associated with his volatile career.

The significance of all this lies in the fact that Parr
favored Johnson in the 1948 runoff. Days after the polls
had closed, a “correction” of the vote came in from
Precinct 13 in the hamlet of Alice in Jim Wells County
on the Mexican border. The “correction” gave Johnson
202 votes which local election officials claimed they had
somehow previously overlooked. But it was enough to
give Johnson the Democratic nomination by eighty-seven
votes.

Parr had come through. The self-styled “Duke of
Duval” had once again come up with enough votes to get
his man in. And Coke Stevenson was furious.

“I was beaten by a stuffed ballot box,” he told reporters.
“And I can prove it.”

Parr laughed and called Stevenson a poor loser. “In
previous elections,” El Jefe noted, “the district has gone
for Stevenson with as much enthusiasm as it has gone
against him in this year’s Senate election. I never heard
a complaint from him then about the bloc vote in Duval
County.”

Charging fraud, the governor appealed to the federal
court for redress. His lawyers produced evidence clearly
demonstrating that “voters” from the graveyard and from
across the border in Mexico had been recorded for John-
son. The lawyers also produced a couple of courageous
Chicanos who testified that Parr had voted their names
without their knowledge.

After hearing all the arguments. Judge T. Whitfield

134

VICTOR LASKY

Davidson was moved to comment: “There has not one
word of evidence been submitted [sic] to disprove this
plaintiff’s claim he has been robbed of a seat in the United
States Senate.”

At the same time Davidson issued an injunction deny-
ing Johnson a place on the ballot.

As a result there was great consternation among leading
Democrats in Washington. Not that the liberals or even
Truman particularly loved Johnson. If anyone followed a
Southern line, it was he. But they much preferred him to
his more outspoken Dixiecrat opponent. Which is precisely
what Truman told Johnson when the President barn-
stormed through Texas late in September.

Meanwhile Washington lawyer Abe Fortas took charge
of the legal maneuvers to save Johnson’s “election.” In
these he was capably assisted by none other than Joe Rauh,
an ultra-liberal then most active in the .affairs of Americans
for Democratic Action. (In years to come, Rauh was to
emerge as one of LBJ’s more vociferous critics.)

One day after Judge Davidson reopened his hearing in
Fort Worth, Fortas went to see Associate Justice Hugo
Black, a former Ku Klux Klansman-turned-civil libertarian.
It was their mutual interest in liberal causes which had
made them good friends. They spent considerable time dis-
cussing Lyndon’s election problem. And Fortas got what
he wanted.

On September 28, 1948, Black issued an order staying
the Davidson injunction. This meant that Johnson’s name
could appear on the November ballot. Black’s order de-
clared that the federal courts lacked jurisdiction over state
elections. In effect Black had ruled that Johnson would be
the next senator from Texas.

Adjourning his court, an angered Judge Davidson de-
nounced the Black order as “unduly hasty and probably
unlawful” — which it most certainly was. The judge noted,
for example, that the Stevenson-Johnson controversy had
involved a federal office. Then he pointed out that only
four years previously, Justice Black had voted exactly the
opposite when the High Court ruled that federal courts
could indeed interfere to see that Negroes were not barred
from voting in Texas primaries.

But the ball game was over.

Johnson, however, faced one more hurdle on his way

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 135

to the Senate. So bitter were the protests of the Stevenson
supporters that the Senate voted to look into the contested
primary. But Senate investigators soon discovered that most
of the ballots in Duval, Jim Wells, and Zapata counties —
the “Duke’s” bailiwick — had been destroyed. Who de-
stroyed them? Well, according to Parr, some illiterate
Mexican janitors must have thought they were trash ready
to be burned.

The big Senate probe was over even before it began.

Meanwhile Truman was barnstorming Texas in what
appeared to be a forlorn pursuit of the presidency. When
his train stopped at San Antonio, Parr got aboard to spend
a half-hour with the President. Immediately there was
speculation that Parr would get a presidential pardon for
an old income tax conviction.

Truman, of course, was no stranger to stuffed ballots.
In fact he could never have become President if he had
not scraped victory out of the 1934 Senate primary in
Missouri with the help of 50,000 fraudulent votes from
Tom Pendergast’s Kansas City machine. And years later
when Boss Pendergast passed on to his just reward, Truman
flew to the funeral. The President ignored the criticism. He
knew it would soon blow over.

So pleased was Truman with Parr’s good work on be-
half of the team that, shortly after his election, he did re-
ward the “Duke of Duval” with a pardon. And when Parr
again was found guilty of income tax evasion, Fortas
argued the case all the way to the Supreme Court and
got the “Duke” off on a technicality.

Eventually a grateful Lyndon Johnson nominated Fortas
as a justice on the Supreme Court.

Stevenson never forgot nor forgave. Not only had he
made broadcasts urging his supporters to vote for John-
son’s Republican opponent in the 1948 contest, but subse-
quently he backed LBJ’s opponent in the 1954 election. In
1960, rather than support a ticket with Johnson on it, he
supported Nixon in the presidential race.

“I am not a brass collar Democrat any more,” he told
an interviewer in 1964, sixteen years after the fateful con-
test with Lyndon Johnson. “I don’t feel as kindly towards
the Democrats as perhaps I should. This may sound like
sour grapes, but when they put the stamp of approval on
the way the office of U.S. Senator was lost to me. . .

136

VICTOR LASKY

The law finally caught up with Parr. In 1974 he was
sentenced to ten years at hard labor and a fine of $14,000
for failing to list $287,000 in taxable income between
1966 and 1969. A year after this his appeal was rejected
by the Court of Appeals. The “Duke of Duval” had run
out of all his options. No longer did he have friends in
high places who could come to his rescue. A week later
he was found slumped over the steering wheel of his car, a
bullet wound in his right temple. The man whose political
power helped send Lyndon Johnson to the Senate in 1948
was dead.

So exhilarated was Lyndon Johnson on reaching the po-
litical mountaintop in 1948 that, according to one biog-
rapher, he told this story about his first Senate victory:

Little Manuel was sitting on a curbstone, crying bitter
tears. Another Mexican, happening along, asked, “What’s
the trouble with you, Manuel?”

“My father was here last Saturday and he did not come
to see me.”

“But, Manuel, your father has been dead ten years.”

“That’s true,” Manuel sobbed. “But he was here last
Saturday and he voted for Lyndon Johnson, but he did
not even come to see me.”

The joke lost its humorous aspects for Johnson when, on
taking his seat in the Senate, he began to be twitted as
“Landslide Lyndon.” It was a sobriquet which was to
haunt him throughout his political career. And the fact
that President Kennedy also called him “Landslide” in pri-
vate conversation irritated LBJ no end. But there was
little he could do about it. As Vice President, he could
only grin and bear it.

As time passed, LBJ was to become even more irritated
about rumors concerning his wealth. And he went out of
his way to discourage newspaper stories about how he came
to fortune. The fact remains, however, that when the tall,
gangly Texan first went to Congress in the thirties, he
was a poor boy, dirt-poor. But, after a lifetime in Wash-
ington, Johnson died leaving a fortune estimated at be-
tween $14 and $20 million. In other words the Johnsons
had been among the wealthiest families ever to occupy the
White House.

How Johnson managed to amass such great wealth with-
out ever leaving government service still raises questions.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 137

In fact, it became a campaign issue during the 1964 presi-
dential contest. A few publications did try to dig out the
facts. But for the most part the media ignored the story.
There was no Watergate press corps prying into LBJ’s
affairs.

It appears that the keystone of the Johnson fortune was
the family ownership of radio-TV station KTBC in Austin,
a communications combine which for a long time had a
television monopoly in that city and environs. To what
extent this monopoly enjoyed its extraordinary prosperity
because of favorable rulings by the Federal Communica-
tions Commission, as Louis Kohlmeier wrote in the Wall
Street Journal , would take “a subtle scientist to measure
precisely.” The question raised by Kohlmeier’s Pulitzer
Prize-winning articles in 1964 was how much Johnson’s po-
litical prominence as Senate Majority Leader may have
played in the FCC’s exceptionally beneficent rulings. It
was a good question but, needless to say, one that was
never explored by any congressional body.

In December 1963, shortly after Johnson was sworn in
as President, the FCC came through again for the John-
sons. This time the regulatory agency rejected an applica-
tion by a community antenna television service which
threatened KTBC’s monopoly in Austin. And the question
was raised whether the FCC, in making its decision, could
not have been influenced by the knowledge that the Presi-
dent was involved. The Johnson response to what after all
was a striking conflict-of-interest situation was to place all
the broadcasting properties in the control of a blind trust.
But the propriety of this arrangement was also questioned
after disclosure that the trustee selected by the Johnsons
was an old friend who visited them frequently at the White
House.

Johnson’s public utterances on his finances were few
and far between. And when he did refer to them at two
press conferences in April 1964 he was far from being can-
did. Thus, looking reporters in the eye, he could say, “I
have no interest in any television any place.” On another
occasion he claimed, “I don’t have any interest in govern-
ment-regulated industries of any kind and never have had.”
Technically, of course, he was being accurate. The stock
in the broadcast properties was held in the name of his
wife and two daughters.

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VICTOR LASKY

So sensitive was he about discussions of his finances that
he sought to head off publication by Life of an article on
the subject. Despite a personal appeal by the President, the
editors went ahead with the piece, entitled “How LBJ’s
Family Amassed Its Fortune.”

Written by investigative reporters Keith Wheeler and
William Lambert, the article made clear their gut feeling
that the public record did not necessarily reveal the entire
story. Thus, in analyzing the family’s numerous real es-
tate deals, Wheeler and Lambert had this to say:

Following the trail of some of these transactions re-
sembles the action in a Western movie, where the
cowboys ride off in a cloud of dust to the south, the
herd stampedes northeastward, the Indians start to
westward but, once out of sight, circle toward the
north, the rustlers drift eastward and the cavalry,
coming to the rescue, gets lost entirely — all over stony
ground leaving little trace.

Needless to say, the article was written without the co-
operation of the White House; nevertheless its authors
placed the Johnson assets at about $14 million. Several
days later the White House released an audit which put
the figure at $3.5 million. Again there was deception.
For the lower figure was based on the purchase price of
the family’s holdings and not the contemporary market
value.

Except for Life , the Wall Street Journal , and a few other
publications, the media generally remained mum about
the unseemly growth of Johnson’s wealth while in office.
There was no spree of digging or moralizing, with scores of
bloodhound reporters on the case, as there was to be when
Nixon’s finances — trifling as compared with his prede-
cessor’s — became an issue.

The role of Bobby Baker in the building of the Johnson
fortune was never fully cleared up. The main reason, of
course, was the refusal of Senate Democrats to permit any
probing of that curious relationship. Even President Ken-
nedy had often wondered out loud about how LBJ made
his money. But Kennedy, as he told Bradlee on October
22, 1963, was fairly certain Johnson had not been “on the
take since he was elected.” Before that, Kennedy told his

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 139

friend, “I’m not so sure.” At the same time, on that day,
Kennedy indirectly acknowledged that LBJ, while serving
one heartbeat away from the presidency, had been improp-
erly tooling around the country in Grumman corporate
jets.

Exactly one month later John Kennedy’s heart stopped
beating, and the nation had a new President.

ELEVEN

As Vice President, Lyndon Johnson felt he had good
reason to fear the Kennedys. He was well aware that they
were spreading all kinds of stories about him behind his
back. The fact that the President would constantly refer
to him as “Landslide,” in speaking to intimates, had
reached him. And causing Johnson extreme embarrassment
was a published report that at a party at Robert Kennedy’s
home — Hickory Hill — some friends had given the Attor-
ney General an LBJ voodoo doll in which to stick pins.
But there was little this proud Texan could do but take
it. He was, after all, completely beholden to the young
President whom he had once described as “looking like a
spavined hunchback.”

In other words there was no love lost between the Ken-
nedys and Johnson. In fact the Vice President was con-
vinced that the President and his brother had been spread-
ing the word that he would be “dumped” from the ticket
in 1964. And Johnson, as he told his old crony Senator
Thomas J. Dodd in October 1963, was resigned to that
embarrassing fate. His eyes brimming with tears, Johnson
told the Connecticut Democrat that the Kennedys were
“sadists.”

In his conversation with Dodd Johnson also confided
his fear that he was being wiretapped, as well as being
kept under surveillance. Though he did not explain in de-
tail, he said he had “solid information” that “Bobby” —
whom he invariably characterized as a “little bastard” —
was keeping tabs on everything he was doing for the pur-
pose of “getting” him.

Many of Lyndon’s friends thought him slightly paranoid
about Bobby, but in view of later revelations the Vice
President might not have been too far off base in his
suspicions. Johnson’s mood in this period was later summed

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 141

up by a journalist who had interviewed him at length.
“During his Vice Presidential tenure,” wrote Arnold Beich-
man,*

Johnson’s loyalties were surely tried. He had an un-
happy idea that he was being followed, that his wires
were tapped. What outsiders can only sense is how
black were those days for him and the dark fore-
boding about his political future. What is now said in
Washington — and which has not been publicly con-
firmed — is that, as soon as he became President, John-
son ordered an end to widespread wiretapping. With
good reason, Johnson is for the right to privacy.

Johnson was absolutely convinced, for example, that it
was the Justice Department which had leaked stories on
the suspicious financial shenanigans of Robert G. (Bobby)
Baker, the gangling South Carolinian who had served some
hair-raising years as secretary to then Senate Majority
Leader Johnson. It was during that period that Johnson
had said of Baker, “I have two daughters. If I had a son,
this would be the boy. ... (He is) my strong right arm,
the last man I see at night, the first one I see in the morn-
ing.” In some quarters Baker was referred to as the “one
hundred and first Senator.”

In the fall, of 1963 the scandal involving Baker broke
wide open. A private suit had been filed in federal court
charging that he had improperly used his influence in the
Senate to obtain defense plant contracts for his vending
machine firm. That unloosed a torrent of stories concern-
ing other of Baker’s financial wheeling-and-dealing, as well
as sensational yarns concerning the preoccupation of some
of the high and mighty with booze and broads.

Because of LBJ’s once close ties to Baker, the Vice
President’s name was linked to the Senate aide’s as soon
as the case began to unravel. And immediately there was
speculation that President Kennedy would use the scandal
as an excuse for “dumping” LBJ from the 1964 ticket.
The question arose at Kennedy’s next-to-last press con-

*But as we shall see, LBJ’s concern for the “right to privacy” was
largely self-centered. As President he had no compunctions about
ordering the wiretapping of whoever he considered persona non
grata.

142

VICTOR LASKY

ference on October 31, 1963. When a reporter asked
whether he wanted Johnson on the ticket and whether he
expected “that he will be on,” the President said quickly:
“Yes to both questions.”

But Kennedy seemed to be ambivalent on the subject.
Speaking privately with his loyal secretary, Mrs. Evelyn
Lincoln, the President indicated his intention of getting
rid of Johnson. In her book Kennedy and Johnson , Mrs.
Lincoln said she had asked the President who he intended
to have as his runningmate.

“At this time,” Kennedy replied unhesitatingly, “I am
thinking about Governor Terry Sanford of North Carolina.
But it will not be Lyndon.”

But in talking with Bradlee, the President said that talk
about dumping Lyndon from the ticket was “preposterous
on the face of it. We’ve got to carry Texas in ’64, and may-
be Georgia.” In other words the same Southern strategy
that led JFK to pick LBJ as his runningmate in the first
place.*

Still it was becoming painfully obvious that Vaffaire
Baker was shaping up as a major Republican issue against
the Kennedy administration in the following year. At GOP
urging, the Senate voted to investigate the case. Baker
had resigned his post rather than respond to questions at
an executive session of Senate leaders. And Johnson
feared further political damage.

Then came Dallas — and Johnson inherited the presi-
dency. The investigation into Baker’s affairs continued in
executive session, and for some weeks the new President
waited for the other shoe to drop. For he knew exactly
what was being testified to behind those closed Senate
doors. And the testimony did not make LBJ look too
good. So much so that some of LBJ’s aides pleaded with
him to repudiate Baker with a statement “to the effect that
he had trusted and been fond of this young man and was
sorry he had turned bad,” according to Eric Goldman, one
of those aides.

•Except for a last-minute decision to go all-out for Southern sup-
port, Kennedy would have selected Senator Stuart Symington in
1960, according to Clark Clifford, who recently told the St. Louis
Post-Dispatch that on the night of his 1960 nomination, Kennedy
promised the spot to Symington but withdrew the offer the next day.
Such are the vagaries of history.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 143

Johnson decided to say nothing. Was it because Baker
knew too much?

Finally Johnson was forced to break his silence. The
Senate Rules Committee, which had been conducting the
investigation, made public some extraordinary testimony
involving the new President. The sworn testimony came
from a suburban Maryland insurance salesman, Don B.
Reynolds, who claimed he had taken Baker into his firm
as a vice president in order to exploit his political con-
tacts. This was the way he made huge payoffs to Baker.
Reynolds also testified that it was Baker who had asked
him to sell a life insurance policy to Lyndon Johnson. This
was in 1957, two years after the then Majority Leader
had suffered a massive heart attack. Reynolds arranged
for a $100,000 policy, despite the fact that Johnson was
considered to be in a high-risk category.

Not long afterward Reynolds received a call from
Walter Jenkins, one of LBJ’s top aides, who suggested it
would be nice if Reynolds would purchase some advertising
time on KTBC, the Austin television station owned by
Mrs. Johnson. The implication was clear. Johnson was
demanding a kickback on the broker’s commission
Reynolds had received on the Majority Leader’s policy.
Reynolds took the hint and bought the commercial spots
for $1,208, which he later resold at a fraction of what they
cost to a kitchenware manufacturer who had more need
for them.

Two years later, according to Reynolds, Baker advised
him it would also be nice if he would present Johnson
with a certain kind of high-fidelity stereophonic phono-
graph. The $585 phonograph was promptly sent to the
Johnson home, along with invoices listing Reynolds as
the purchaser, the insurance man testified. And then in
1961, after becoming Vice President, Lyndon Johnson
bought another $100,000 life insurance policy from Rey-
nolds.

After Reynolds testified about Jenkins, .the presidential
aide hid in his White House office, refusing to take any
calls from reporters. And LBJ, as usual when he was in
trouble, turned to two lawyer-friends for advice on what
to do next. Both Abe Fortas and Clark Clifford suggested
that Jenkins turn down Republican suggestions that he
appear before the Senate Rules Committee where he would

144 VICTOR LASKY

undergo tough cross-examination. On their advice Jenkins
dispatched an evasive memorandum which seemed to
deny much of Reynolds’s testimony.

All of which was recalled during the Watergate furor by
Senator Carl Curtis, who had been the ranking Republican
on the Senate committee that investigated the Baker case.
As he told North Carolina Republicans on November 3,
1973: “The Committee needed the testimony of Walter
Jenkins. Do you think we ever got it? We battled for
months and never did get the testimony of Walter Jenkins.
There were six Democrats and three Republicans on the
Committee. Time and again our efforts to get the testimony
of Walter Jenkins were thwarted by a straight party vote
of six to three.

“On a couple of occasions, I took our fight to the Senate
floor. I offered proposals whereby the Senate as a whole
would instruct the Committee to subpoena a witness if
three Senators made such a request. It was voted down.
Who do you suppose opposed this effort? Who do you
suppose was aligned with the coverup and concealing of
evidence?

“Who do you suppose took the position that a Senate
Committee couldn’t even question one White House em-
ployee if he was a Democrat? Well, there were a lot of
people opposing our efforts but included in that group
were the guiding lights on the Democratic side of the
present Senate Committee investigating the Watergate scan-
dal. My, how times have changed!

. . Where were these purists of the TV networks
when Clark Clifford and Abe Fortas were conducting a
coverup? Why were they so silent then?”

Reynolds, under oath, had also told several other shock-
ing stories involving Johnson. He spoke of the time Baker
opened a satchel full of paper money which he said was a
$100,000 payoff to Johnson for pushing through a $7
billion TFX plane contract. So much pressure had been
exerted to get the contract for Texas-based General
Dynamics that Republicans called the TFX the “LBJ.”

Another Reynolds story described how Johnson, mak-
ing an official trip to the Far East as Vice President, drew
$100,000 in counterpart funds while in Hong Kong. This
is money earned by the U.S. government in foreign coun-
tries and can only be spent there. According to Reynolds,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 145

Johnson had spent all that money “in a period of twelve
to fourteen hours buying gifts for people who were
loaded.”

The case of Baker and his highly placed friends actually
would never have been broken had it not been for the un-
tiring efforts of a little-known Republican senator from
Delaware, John J. Williams. It was this soft-spoken former
chicken-feed dealer who had persuaded Reynolds to talk
in the first place. And Williams operated without a staff
of investigators, funds, or power of subpoena.*

Even before the story broke into the headlines, Williams
knew that his curiosity about the case had triggered some-
one pretty high up in Washington to “get” him. Strangers
posing as Washington investigators were poking around
his home town, asking questions about such things as the
kind of farm subsidies the senator was collecting. Williams
knew immediately that an effort was being made to prove
he was benefitting from legislation he helped pass. But
Williams remained unafraid and more determined than
ever to pursue his inquiries into corruption in high places.

Then one night in February 1964 he met with an official
in the Johnson administration who had something frighten-
ing to say. “I couldn’t risk going to your office,” he told
Williams, “but I can’t stomach what they’re doing to you.
Senator, your mail is being intercepted. Every letter you
write to any federal official asking about the Baker case is
immediately routed to a special handler. He sends the
Senate Rules Committee copies of any information sent to
you. Sometimes he even checks with the Committee be-
fore deciding whether your inquiry is to be answered at all.
You’d better be careful about what you put in writing.”

When Williams confirmed and then disclosed that his
mail was indeed being watched by unauthorized persons,
the Washington Star declared editorially: “The Senate
should be totally outraged. Obviously someone high in the
Executive Branch issued the instructions for this monitor-
ing. Nothing of the sort, as far as anyone knows, has ever
been done before. Who issued the order?”

Well, everyone knew who issued the order; but in those

♦The revealing story is told in an article by John Barron in the
Reader's Digest , September 1965, entitled “The Case of Bobby
Baker and the Courageous Senator.”

146

VICTOR LASKY

pre-Watergate days no one wanted to take the lead in
fingering a President. Johnson had just taken office under
tragic circumstances and most everyone wished him well,
particularly his fellow Democrats controlling Congress, not
a few of whom had had their own special relationships
with Baker.

But that didn’t deter Johnson from employing even the
IRS in efforts to harass a courageous senator from Delaware
who came to be called “the conscience of the Senate.”
For suddenly the IRS ordered Williams to produce all the
records he had used to prepare a return he had submitted
two years before. This meant the senator had to leave
Washington and submit to a line-by-line audit by an IRS
agent. It also meant that Williams had to curtail his per-
sonal investigation into Baker’s tangled affairs. The pay-
off, incidentally, was that after all the auditing and time
spent, the IRS determined that the government owed the
senator money. But it was Williams’s belief that had there
been anything wrong in his tax return that information
most certainly would have been passed on to Baker’s
highly placed friends.

Meanwhile, at the suggestion of his pals Fortas and
Clifford, Lyndon Johnson broke his silence. At an im-
promptu press conference LBJ himself brought up the
newspaper stories about ‘an insurance policy that was
written on my life some seven years ago, and I am still
here.” He did not refer to the television time purchased by
Reynolds but did allude to the stereo by describing it first
as “a gift . . . that an employee of mine [Baker] made to
me and Mrs. Johnson” and then as a gift of “the Baker
family.” He noted that the Bakers and the Johnsons had
frequently exchanged gifts. Baker, he claimed, “was an
employee of the public and had no business pending before
me and was asking for nothing, and so far as I know ex-
pected nothing in return any more than I did when I had
presented him with gifts.”

LBJ ended the discussion by saying he would not en-
tertain any more questions on the subject. Thus reporters
did not have the opportunity to ask the President why the
invoice attached to the delivered set read: “Charge to Don
Reynolds, 8484 Fenton Street, Silver Spring; shipped to
Lyndon Johnson, 4931 30th Street NW, Washington, D.C.,
one stereo.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 147

At later press conferences LBJ would not permit further
probing into these areas. Even the persistent Clark Mollen-
hoff was cut off when he asked verboten questions. But the
correspondent once received some sort of reply to a ques-
tion. “How do you feel about the general ethical question
that’s been raised, relative to high government officials . . .
who have an interest in government-regulated industries,
such as television?” Mollenhoff asked.

LBJ, his face hardening, replied that he owned no stock
in the Texas Broadcasting Company, that Lady Bird’s
stock was under the tight control of trustees. “I see no
conflict in any way,” he snarled.

And then came a White House blitz aimed at blackening
Reynolds’s reputation. “Persons within and close to the
Johnson Administration,” reported Cabell Philipps in The
New York Times , “have attempted to use secret Govern-
ment documents to impugn” the Reynolds testimony. Con-
fidential files from the FBI and Air Force Intelligence con-
taining derogatory information about Reynolds were shown
to selected editors and newsmen, according to the Times.
Reynolds, who had been an Air Force officer, had engaged
in black market activities while overseas and other un-
ethical conduct, according to the dossiers. Drew Pearson,
who also had been shown the files, weighed in with a re-
port, presumably based on FBI sources, describing Rey-
nolds as a man who “has brought reckless charges in the
past against people who crossed him, accusing them of
being Communists and sex deviates.”

But Reynolds had not accused LBJ of being a Com-
munist or a pervert. His charges boiled down to the con-
tention that Johnson, wittingly or unwittingly, had ac-
cepted kickbacks as Majority Leader. It was the kind of
charge which, had it been proven in a court of law, could
have resulted in a conviction. After all, lesser mortals in
government, when found guilty of the same allegation,
spent time in the slammer. At the very least accepting
kickbacks most definitely was an impeachable offense.

Just as shocking, in the light of the holier-than-thou
attitude taken by much of the media during Watergate,
was the extraordinary nonchalance exhibited by newsmen
and editors willing to peruse supposedly confidential in-
vestigative files containing raw, unevaluated gossip about
an American citizen. There were very few words of pro-

148

VICTOR LASKY

test about what after all was illegal behavior on the part
of the White House. Eye-opening too was the question-
able, if not illegal, misuse of the FBI which, on orders of
the White House, launched a full field investigation of
Reynolds.

Also misused on White House orders was the IRS. Full
field investigations of Reynolds’s friends and business as-
sociates were launched by chief counsel Sheldon Cohen,
formerly a young law associate of Fortas. Reynolds him-
self, warned that his life might be in danger, later fled
the country.

Meanwhile LBJ sought to divorce himself completely
from Baker. He let the word get out that he was abandon-
ing him. And, as was reported by Evans and Novak,*
“This irritation with his former protege was heightened
by the President’s deep concern over whether Attorney
General Kennedy would use the Baker case against him
in some way.”

LBJ had good reason to be concerned. He well knew
that Bobby was no friend of his and, in fact, resented
that he had succeeded to the office won at the polls by his
beloved brother. To the Kennedyites LBJ was a “usurper.”
Moreover Johnson did not know how much Bobby knew
about him and what he intended to do with that informa-
tion. As an Attorney General not beholden to him, Ken-
nedy might proceed on certain investigations that could
prove damaging to the new President.

Also giving LBJ nightmares was the fear that Baker,
who knew so much, might spill the beans. And Baker was
indeed indicating that he might do just that unless he were
bailed out of his difficulties. The word went out to Dem-
ocratic leaders that LBJ wanted a lid placed on the Senate
probe of Baker’s affairs then under way.

Of course there was still Senator Williams who, despite
all sorts of threats and obstacles being hurled in his path,
refused to lay off. But the threats had their effect on po-
tential witnesses who had promised to tell all they knew
about Baker. One important businessman, who previously
had said he would provide evidence, told the senator, “I

♦In Lyndon B. Johnson : The Exercise of Power by Rowland Evans
and Robert Novak (New York: New American Library, 1966).
Probably the best sourcebook on LBJ and his early years in the
presidency.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 149

don’t know what you’re talking about, Senator. I never
talked to you before in my life. I’m sorry, but I’m sure you
understand.”

The senator himself began to feel the heat of an angered
LBJ. What he did not know was that the very night LBJ
assumed the presidency, he had spoken to Abe Fortas about
Williams. On that occasion the new President vowed to
punish Williams. There was talk about turning the IRS
loose on the Delaware maverick, perhaps getting enough
on him to send the “bastard” to jail on an income tax rap.
And if that wasn’t feasible, the Democrats would flood
the state with money to try to defeat the “sonofabitch”
when he came up for reelection the next year.

All of which was done.

Also in the works was a campaign of character as-
sassination. Williams was called a “crackpot” by Demo-
cratic members of the Rules Committee. Others said he
just hated Democratic presidents, recalling his earlier
relentless attacks on the Truman administration. Drew
Pearson wanted to know why Williams had not been out-
raged by Eisenhower’s acceptance of expensive gifts while
serving in office. The Washington Post helped the LBJ
cause by publishing a false, unchecked story alleging that
the senator had been using hidden microphones in his of-
fice to record interviews.

On only one other occasion did LBJ publicly discuss
Baker. That was during a television interview on March
15, 1964. Asked if he was still a friend of Baker’s, the
President said he hadn’t seen or talked with him since
he resigned from his Senate post. He denied that Baker
had been his protege. “He was there before I came to the
Senate for ten years, doing a job substantially the same
as he is doing now; he was elected by all the Senators . . .
including the Republican Senators.” Which was not exactly
telling it like it was.

As his former press secretary, George Reedy, later put
it, “Johnson was really panicked. ... He adopted this line
that he hardly knew Baker, and I think he tried to con-
vince himself the line was true. . . . Whatever Johnson
tells you at any given moment he thinks is the truth.
The first victim of the Johnson whopper is always Lyndon
Baines Johnson.”

Meanwhile Democratic leaders in the Senate began

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VICTOR LASKY

moving behind the scenes to bring the probe to a rapid
conclusion. It was an election year and they did not want
to provide the Republicans a juicy issue. By party-line votes
the Democratic majority on the Rules Committee rejected
Republican efforts to expand the scope and duration of
the inquiry. The hearings were terminated on March 25.

On July 8 the panel’s report was released. While the
Democratic majority found Baker “guilty of many gross
improprieties” in his numerous business dealings, its review
of the insurance episode in effect exonerated Johnson. The
Democrats denounced the President’s accuser in these
words: “It appears rather obvious that Reynolds in his
effort to enjoy the limelight of this investigation was not
reluctant to draw on his imagination and to add to his
store of knowledge as time passed.”

The Republicans felt otherwise. Their minority report
observed that the investigation of the case had never been
fully explored, noting for example that Jenkins had never
been called to testify in person and be subjected to cross-
examination.

Previously, on May 14, 1964, the Democratic majority
in the full Senate voted to quash further hearings. In effect
the Democrats had voted for a cover-up. They wanted
to make certain no White House witnesses were called to
connect Baker’s activities with those of his former boss.
Seven times senators were given the opportunity of getting
to the bottom of the scandal and all seven times the Dem-
ocrats voted nay. Not all of them, to be sure, but enough
to override the solid vote of the Republicans for an air-
ing of the story which, many of them felt, could lead right
into the Oval Office.

Among those who voted repeatedly for the cover-up was
Sam Ervin. Two other Democrats to appear on the Ervin
Committee who voted to terminate the Baker hearings were
Herman Talmadge of Georgia and Dan Inouye of Hawaii.
Only in 1973 did Ervin, Talmadge, and Inouye want to
dig and dig and dig.

All of this was recalled nine years later, at the height
of the Watergate hearings, by a Republican congressman
from Illinois, Philip M. Crane, who made this pertinent
observation: “I think it is fair to state that the American
people have been subjected to a great deal of moralizing
by certain members of the Senate Watergate Committee

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 151

in connection with their television show. Now, mind you,
moralizing has its place. However, selective indignation has
no place in the pulpit.”

Crane obviously was referring to such “extremist hum-
bug” — in a Richmond, Virginia, newspaper’s phrase — as
Senator Sam’s teary-eyed declaration that Watergate was
worse than the Civil War, in which half a million Ameri-
cans lost their lives.

Other Democrats who voted in behalf of the Baker cover-
up included Bayh of Indiana, Byrd of West Virginia, Can-
non of Nevada, Church of Idaho, McGovern of South
Dakota, Mansfield of Montana, Muskie of Maine, and
Pastore of Rhode Island. Many of these worthies, need-
less to say, were later to be horrified by allegations of a
cover-up at Watergate.

After the Senate committee ended its Baker probe in
July 1964, declaring that any further evidence on Baker
would be “repetitious and cumulative,” Lyndon Johnson
knew that the worst was over. He then decided to resolve
the other “Bobby problem.” Among other things, Kennedy
had decided he wanted to be named LBJ’s runningmate
at the upcoming national convention in Atlantic City. But
LBJ wasn’t buying.

LBJ suspected, and not without cause, that Kennedy was
leading a cabal aimed at destroying his credibility as
President. From the beginning he sought to ease Kennedy
supporters out of his administration. After supposedly con-
fidential information began to leak out of the White House,
LBJ asked J. Edgar Hoover to discreetly determine the
Kennedyites in his midst. According to Time , after one
such FBI probe, Richard Goodwin — who had coined the
phrase “the Great Society” for LBJ — decided to resign as
a presidential speechwriter, accepting a job as senior fellow
at Wesleyan University at half his White House pay. John-
son also ordered FBI name checks of all high officials in
the Democratic National Committee. So phobic was LBJ
about Bobby that once, when the Washington Star attacked
him editorially, the President asked Hoover to determine
whether there was any Kennedy money behind the paper.
There wasn’t.

On July 29, 1964, the two antagonists met in the Oval
Office. Kennedy noticed immediately that LBJ had switched
on his tape recorder. So he was relatively restrained when

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VICTOR LASKY

LBJ informed him there was no way that he could become
the vice presidential candidate. Bobby did not argue. But
he did say that the Kennedy family would not be overly
happy if Sargent Shriver was selected as the number two
man. Within the family, of course, there was a sense of
priority and a brother-in-law was way down the list.

Then they discussed other possible jobs for Bobby.
Would he be interested in an embassy in Rome, London,
or Paris, or possibly another cabinet post? RFK said he
was only interested in remaining as Attorney General. He
had a number of important tasks that remained to be com-
pleted.

That brought the subject around to the forthcoming
campaign and Bobby suggested that the Baker case might
prove embarrassing. But Johnson said he didn’t think so.
For one thing he felt the Republicans wouldn’t dare to
make an issue of the case. He said too many Republicans
themselves were vulnerable. And he named a few who had
better keep their traps shut. The President implied he had
the goods on them. Which was why the President thought
the case was dead.

But the Baker case, though dying, was not yet buried.
It became, as the Democrats had feared, a campaign issue.
Not only did the Republicans keep screaming “whitewash,”
but their presidential standardbearer Barry Goldwater said:
“Bobby Baker’s affairs lead right straight into the White
House.”

At the same time Williams kept digging into the Baker
cesspool and coming up with still more startling allegations
of high-level wrongdoing. One of those allegations had to
do with Baker’s conspiring to channel an illegal payment
of $25,000 from a construction millionaire working on
government projects, Matthew McCloskey, into the 1960
Kennedy-Johnson campaign chest. Reynolds had sworn
under oath that he had acted as the “bagman” in that
transaction. His testimony was bolstered by copies of in-
voices and a canceled check.

The new allegations compelled the Senate to reopen the
investigation. Through Fortas, LBJ was in close touch
with leading Democratic senators. Two days of hearings
were held in October. Then the hearings were suspended
until after the election for lack of a quorum. Whereupon
the chairman of the Rules Committee, Everett Jordan

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 153

of North Carolina, left Washington to join Mrs. Johnson
on her whistle-stop tour of the South.

All through that fall wave after wave of administration
spokesmen invaded Delaware to belittle Williams as some
sort of cranky old eccentric. And then on the Saturday
before the election, much to the amazement of accompany-
ing correspondents, LBJ himself turned up in a small
Delaware town to plead for William’s defeat. “Give me
men I can work with!” he bellowed. It was an unscheduled,
last-minute appearance in a state with only three electoral
votes. And Williams thought he might go down to defeat.

But the people of Delaware voted independently. While
they gave LBJ an overwhelming vote, they also elected
Williams to a fourth term by 7,000 votes.

Still Williams’s long ordeal was not yet over. He again
had to appear before the IRS to defend his tax returns.
And a smear campaign was launched to make the sixty-
one-year-old senator appear as a sanctimonious hypocrite.

Word had been leaked that Carole Tyler, Baker’s con-
fidential secretary, was going to expose the senator’s sex
life. This was the same woman who had repeatedly taken
the Fifth Amendment before the Rules Committee in order
to avoid saying anything.

Finally Miss Tyler turned up at a Nashville press con-
ference. Reading from a typewritten statement, she said,
“I wonder what you would think if you knew that the prin-
cipal instigator of the Senate investigation was seen by me
on July 6 at 6:30 a.m. with a lady — not his wife — just
after they finished breakfast. And just think, this is the
gentleman who has been criticizing the Senate Rules Com-
mittee for not going into the so-called sex angle of the
Baker case.* I leave it to his conscience, if any, as to why
he was with this lady — not his wife — at such a time near
a summer resort.”

Asked to name the senator. Miss Tyler responded, “I
think you know who I mean.”

Actually Miss Tyler had been telling the truth. She did,
in fact, see the senator with a lady not his wife. The lady
happened to be his granddaughter, whom he was accom-

♦Though the Baker case was replete with sex angles, the fact was
that Senator Williams never called on the Rules Committee to in-
vestigate them.

154

VICTOR LASKY

panying to her home following a weekend at the beach.
But Williams refused to dignify the attack by commenting
on it at the time.

The Rules Committee issued a second “final” report.
Originally the draft of the report, leaked out to friendly
reporters, contained innuendoes and insinuations about
Williams’s having withheld information and making false
charges.

Williams angrily demanded of his fellow senators that
they either put up or shut up. “Retract the charges or else
repeat them in my presence,” he declared on the Senate
floor. The cover-up artists on the Rules Committee decided
that discretion was the better part of valor. They deleted
all the attacks on Williams. But they had definitely suc-
ceeded in circulating canards without assuming respon-
sibility.

“I have plenty of time,” Williams again warned. “And
I am not about to be intimidated. In fact, my curiosity and
determination grow as resistance intensifies.”

Bobby Baker did not seem overly troubled. Having
played ball with his friends in high places by taking the
Fifth Amendment and saying nothing, he fully expected
that, even if indicted, nothing would happen to him. He was
to be proved wrong. Because of Williams’s bulldog per-
sistence, the Criminal Division of the Justice Department
finally was forced to move. But the Criminal Division
didn’t get J. Edgar Hoover’s cooperation. When the divi-
sion requested that the FBI “wire” an informant who was
about to confer with Baker, the director not only refused
but reported the request to the President. Whereupon, with-
out LBJ’s knowledge, the Justice Department lawyers
went to the Treasury Department’s Bureau of Narcotics
and got the help they sought.

These events were revealed in January 1967 when Baker
finally went on trial, accused of seven counts of tax evasion,
one count of theft, and one count of conspiracy to defraud
the government. On January 17, 1967, Assistant FBI Di-
rector Cartha D. (“Deke”) DeLoach was summoned to the
White House by LBJ aide Marvin Watson. The President
was “quite exercised,” Watson reported, at the news that
the Bureau of Narcotics had arranged for the “recording
device.” In an internal memo DeLoach reported that
“Watson told me that the President wanted a complete

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 155

rundown” on former Assistant Attorney General Herbert
J. Miller, who had ordered the use of wiretaps and bugs
in the Baker investigation.

The memo outlined Watson’s request that the check on
Miller and four Treasury officials be made “as discreetly
as possible,” and that the FBI reports on them “should
specifically point out whether any of these individuals were
close to Bobby Kennedy.” Moreover, according to the
memo: “The President does not want any record made
of this request. He wants the memoranda in question to
be blind memoranda. He desires that they be as thorough
as possible and wants this done on an expeditious basis.”

DeLoach noted that the President should be told that
“Jack Miller was formerly an Assistant AG under Bobby
Kennedy and is now a law partner of former Bureau [As-
sistant Director] Courtney Evans,” who had served as a
liaison between the FBI and Attorney General Kennedy.*
DeLoach concluded by saying that Evans’s “lying defense
of Kennedy” should be set forth, an apparent reference
to public statements by Evans earlier that Kennedy had
not known of FBI electronic surveillance of Martin Luther
King, Jr.

In effect, therefore, the President through Watson had
ordered the FBI to conduct an unusual investigation of
another federal law enforcement agency for daring to poke
around in the affairs of his former protege. LBJ was ab-
solutely certain that “Bobby’s boys,” still in the federal
bureaucracy, were still out to “get” him. At the time, of
course, Kennedy had become a senator and appeared to
be mobilizing anti-LBJ sentiment for his own try at the
presidency.

Meanwhile Baker, who had been found guilty, began a
series of appeals that took several years. In January 1971
the man whom Johnson once considered to be like “a son”
began serving a one-to-three year sentence in the federal
penitentiary at Lewisburg. By that time Johnson was no
longer in office. Baker was paroled in 1972, after serving
seventeen months.

♦Ironically one of Attorney Miller’s more celebrated clients cur-
rently is Richard M. Nixon.

TWELVE

It was Lyndon Johnson who once uttered the memorable
obscenity about not feeling safe unless he had a man’s un-
mentionables in his pocket. As much as any other Presi-
dent (and probably more) Lyndon Johnson devoted con-
siderable effort to obtaining intimate information about his
foes or potential foes, which added up to quite a list. Ex-
cept for his wife, Lady Bird, he didn’t trust a soul and, as
he once said half-jokingly, “Sometimes I’m not too sure
about her.”

As President, Johnson had no hesitation about using
various investigatory agencies to carry on political warfare
against his adversaries. In so doing, he emulated the man he
had admired most in political life, Franklin Delano Roose-
velt. For FDR also used (or misused) the FBI to dig up
dirt on his enemies. On several occasions FDR asked the
FBI to call off investigations of political allies and friends,
most notably Undersecretary of State Sumner Welles, who
had been accused of homosexual activities.

All this and much more were contained in a secret
memorandum prepared by an official of the FBI, William
C. Sullivan. A scholarly expert in counter-intelligence, Sulli-
van had written the memorandum at the request of John
Dean when he was still at the White House. The document
outlined political uses made of the Bureau dating back to
the New Deal. When Dean broke with Nixon, he turned
the Sullivan memo over to the Watergate Committee, along
with a huge batch of materials. But the committee, headed
by Sam Ervin, decided to bury the memo and forget it.
Nevertheless portions were leaked and published in Time.

Its existence was confirmed by Ervin’s deputy counsel
Rufus L. Edminsten, who said the reason the committee
would not use the memorandum as a basis of inquiry was
because it contained “personal cheap shots” based on un-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 157

documented recollections and generally was “rather dis-
tasteful.” Moreover, he claimed, the document was “not
based on any established facts.”

Of course this was the same committee which had gone
out of its way to enliven its Nixon record with every piece
of gossip and hearsay evidence it could find anywhere.
But, all of a sudden, the Democrats controlling the com-
mittee decided against permitting “cheap shots” in a record
already cluttered with them. Why? The reason is obvious.
The Sullivan memorandum had centered its attention on
the misdeeds of two Democrats, Franklin Roosevelt and
Lyndon Johnson. And the main thrust of the Democrats
was to “get” a Republican President. To do this success-
fully, it was essential to cover up the numerous im-
proprieties of his predecessors with the result — and for the
purpose — of isolating Nixon’s sins and making them ap-
pear unique and unprecedented. In this they succeeded
with a vengeance.

According to John Dean, the memorandum came into
being as the result of a request by Nixon during the
Watergate furor. Aware that the FBI had conducted po-
litical intelligence operations in Democratic administra-
tions, Nixon asked Dean to obtain examples from Sulli-
van. And Sullivan, forced to resign from the FBI after
a policy feud with Hoover, was only too happy to comply.
To compile his memorandum, Sullivan used data from
secret records listing presidential requests for political
help going back to the days of FDR.

According to the memo, FDR used the G-men lavishly.
Not only did he employ them to check out potential ap-
pointees, a perfectly legitimate function, but also to snoop
into the private lives of his opponents on such issues as
lend-lease, a hardly legitimate enterprise. On one occasion
the President asked the Bureau to investigate an army
colonel who had been acting as Mrs. Roosevelt’s escort.
Mrs. Roosevelt would also make some unusual requests,”
Sullivan cryptically noted.

Sullivan had more to say about FDR’s relations with the
Bureau in a letter to a conference on “privacy in a free
society.”*

*Sullivan was supposed to appear in person but was prevented from
doing so by a heart attack. However his letter was published in the

158

VICTOR LASKY

“Such a very great man as Franklin D. Roosevelt saw
nothing wrong in asking the FBI to investigate those op-
posing his lend-lease policy — a purely political request,”
wrote Sullivan.

He also had us look into the activities of others who
opposed our entrance into World War II just as later
administrations had the FBI look into those opposing
the conflict in Vietnam. It was a political request also
when he instructed us to put a telephone tap, a micro-
phone and a physical surveillance on an internation-
ally known leader in his Administration.

It was done; the results he wanted secured and
given to him. Certain records of this kind and others
were not then or later put into the regular filing sys-
tem. Rather, they were deliberately kept out of it.
Electronic devices were used freely all through World
War II, with a minimum of controls. President Roose-
velt made requests of various kinds.

In other words the tactics associated with Watergate
were first put to use by Roosevelt. The identity of the “in-
ternationally known leader” whom FDR had ordered wire-
tapped, bugged, and physically surveilled was not made
known, though Sullivan would have most certainly named
him had he been asked by the Watergate Committee.

From various pieces of evidence it could well have been
Joseph P. Kennedy, then U.S. ambassador to Great Britain.
Kennedy, an outspoken isolationist and unofficial leader of
the anti-war forces, had thought very seriously of contest-
ing FDR for the presidency. An early supporter of FDR
and the New Deal’s first chairman of the Securities and
Exchange Commission, Kennedy was bitterly opposed to a
third term for the President.

And Roosevelt was well aware of what his ambassador

final report of the annual Chief Justice Earl Warren Conference on
Advocacy, held June 1974 at Cambridge, Mass. There were some
fifty participants — law professors, an assistant district attorney
from Manhattan, computer experts, diverse academics, law enforce-
ment officials, members of Congress, journalists, judges (federal
and state), and William Ruckelshaus, former acting director of
the FBI. The rapporteur (a euphemism for secretary) was civil
libertarian Nat Hentoff.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 159

was saying, even privately. For one thing the British Secret
Service had been tapping his London quarters and offices.
As they suspected, Kennedy was taking a defeatist posi-
tion regarding Britain in the war. After consulting with
Winston Churchill and other cabinet members, the Secret
Service arranged for a sheaf of tapped conversation in
which Kennedy expressed critical opinions of FDR to
reach the President.*

Early in 1940 Kennedy announced he would not seek
the Democratic nomination. However he continued with
his campaign to keep the United States out of a European
war, which he felt was an abomination. In October 1940
he returned from London with the reported objective of
working against Roosevelt. In fact there was more than
talk that he was prepared to endorse the Republican can-
didate, Wendell Willkie. A report even circulated in Wash-
ington that Henry Luce had arranged for radio time for
Kennedy’s “I’m for Willkie” speech.

On his return to Washington Kennedy telephoned Roose-
velt. As it happened, FDR was conferring with Speaker
Sam Rayburn and a little-known congressman from Texas
named Lyndon Johnson when the call came. As Johnson
later recounted the President’s end of the conversation to
Arthur Krock, this was what was said:

“Ah, Joe, old friend, it is so good to hear your voice.
Please come to the White House tonight for a little family
dinner. I’m dying to talk to you.”

Roosevelt than put down the phone and drew his fore-
finger, razor-fashion, across his throat.

Kennedy did dine at the White House that night. Be-
fore the meal was served, he had a chat with the President.
Exactly what was said in that private meeting was never
made known. But the next day Kennedy endorsed Roose-
velt for a third term over a national radio hookup.

The speech caused astonishment among friends and foes
alike. Krock, in his memoirs, said the Kennedy broadcast
was “out of keeping, not only with the wholly opposite
view he had been expressing privately (to me, among
others), but with Kennedy’s earned reputation as one of

♦This is what Randolph Churchill told C. L. Sulzberger in Paris
in January 1960. The story is contained in Sulzberger’s The Last of
the Giants (New York: Macmillan, 1970), pp. 629-630.

160 VICTOR LASKY

the most forthright men in public life.” And William R.
Castle, one of the major backers of the isolationist America
First Committee, termed the speech a “stooge” job for
Roosevelt, saying privately that some large financial con-
sideration must have been involved — “Everyone in Boston
knows that Kennedy is money mad.”

The Castle thesis seems unlikely. Kennedy, while greedy,
did have principles. And one of them was to prevent a
war in which he quite candidly admitted he did not want
his sons to get killed. Moreover he felt that, whether you
liked it or not, Nazism indeed was the wave of the future.
In his opinion the United States could never resolve the
basic conflicts of Europe.

Which is pretty much what Kennedy told an interviewer
for the Boston Globe following the election. Among other
things he announced that he would lead a Keep-America-
out-of-war crusade. “I’m willing to spend all I’ve got to
keep us out of war,” he said. “There’s no sense in our
getting in. We’d just be left holding the bag.” As far as he
was concerned, “Democracy is finished in England.” With
labor leaders helping run the government, “national social-
ism is coming out of it.” U.S. entry into the war would
result in the same dread state of affairs here at home.
Perhaps his greatest indiscretion was in discussing Eleanor
Roosevelt. “She’s always sending me a note to have some
little Susie Glotz to tea at the Embassy.”

At any rate the interview caused a storm both do-
mestically and internationally. As a result Kennedy resigned
as ambassador. His political career was virtually destroyed.
From that point on he began to work to put one of his sons
in the White House.

Unknown to most Americans and despite his state-
ments to the contrary, Roosevelt had embarked on a care-
fully planned, mostly secret program to involve the United
States in the war. He felt that Hitler -and his Nazi regime
were abominations which had to be destroyed. Thus FDR
authorized the sale of weapons abroad over the objec-
tions of Congress and, not so incidentally, an American
public then vigorously isolationist. And he helped to
establish a joint Anglo-American intelligence network, shar-
ing U.S. secrets with the British.

“The President said he wanted a war with Germany, but

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 161

that he would not declare it,” Churchill reported to his war
cabinet after meeting with Roosevelt in the summer of
1941. “He would instead become more and more provoca-
tive. Mr. Roosevelt said he could look (or an incident
which would justify him in opening hostilities.”

Convinced he would succeed in getting the United States
into the conflict, Roosevelt began to map out war plans
with Churchill through the offices of a man code-named
Intrepid and an office called British Security Coordination.
Intrepid (actually Sir William Stephenson, a Canadian-
born inventor) worked out of offices on the thirty-sixth
floor of Rockefeller Center in Manhattan, acting as co-
ordinator between the two leaders, shuffling papers back
and forth, and engineering the creation of a U.S. in-
telligence network that became the Office of Strategic
Services (OSS) when war finally came.*

In his letter to the Earl Warren conference on privacy,
William Sullivan made clear that many anti-libertarian
things had been done by the FBI, beginning in the late
thirties, in the name of national security which should not
now be condemned. He noted that

in a pre-war atmosphere to be followed soon by
World War II ... we were all convinced we were
fighting for the survival of our nation. The enemy
was real. In this nation, with sabotage attempts and
other problems facing it, the overall enemy consisted
of Bundists and native fascists in support of the Axis
powers, and their espionage agents. To be candid, the
“right to privacy” was not at issue nor was it an
impediment to solving cases. It mattered not whether
electronic devices or other techniques were used. The
issues were black and white and crystal clear. The
methodology was pragmatic: will it work; will it get
the necessary results? The primacy of civil liberties on
occasions gave way to expediency. President Franklin
D. Roosevelt posed no barrier to this method and, for
me, this was no criticism of him at that perilous time.

♦The story, based on Sir William’s recollections as well as ma-
terials in the British archives, is told in William Stephenson’s, A Man
Called Intrepid: The Secret War (New York: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, 1976).

162

VICTOR LASKY

Sullivan continued:

The FBI security operations developed through a pre-
war psychology which was quickly transformed into a
war psychology. In a very real sense it has breathed,
lived and worked within the framework of this war
psychology ever since. World War II was followed by
the Korean War which in turn was followed by the
Vietnam conflict. Permeating our entire nation on the
home front was the Cold War. Hence, just as a soldier
on the field of battle did not consider it wrong to kill
the enemy, so, too, on the home front it was not con-
sidered wrong in major cases to use extraordinary
measures in security work. The same enemy was be-
fore both. Both had the sjme goal — vanquish the
enemy. We did not consider this unlawful. . . .

What Sullivan did not say was that just prior to and dur-
ing World War II most liberals, with a few significant
exceptions, were wholeheartedly in support of any effort to
throttle antiwar dissent. The fact that civil liberties were
being openly and grossly violated led to very little criticism.
In fact liberals applauded when, even before the United
States entered the war, the Attorney General convened a
grand jury to investigate the finances of the nation’s leading
antiwar organization, the America First Committee. During
the war itself there were no liberal outcries when the Roose-
velt administration impaneled a grand jury to bring the
Chicago Tribune , and particularly its publisher. Colonel
McCormick, to “justice” for publishing a story involving
Japanese fleet movements.

Nor did the liberals protest when it became known that
FDR had personally ordered the IRS to look into Charles
A. Lindbergh’s tax returns. Lindbergh, of course, had been
taking a jaundiced view toward FDR’s inching into the
European conflict. But the IRS probe came only after Lind-
bergh refused a deal whereby he would become the na-
tion’s first Secretary of Air if only he would support the
President’s position of all aid to France and Britain “short
of war.”

Asked about the probe, Lindbergh told reporters he wel-
comed it. He said he thought it was a privilege to be an

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 163

American and pay taxes. Moreover, he said, he always
paid an extra 10 percent after calculating what he owed
the government. The IRS probe, though annoying, came
to naught.

Lindbergh campaigned against FDR’s “short of war”
measures on the ground that they were not steps toward
peace, as the President was arguing. Rather the aviator con-
tended that FDR was seeking to create incidents at sea
that inevitably would drag the nation into war when he
authorized Atlantic patrols, a “shoot-on-sight” policy, as
well as having armed American merchant ships enter war
zones. According to Lindbergh, this was “government by
subterfuge” and one profoundly undemocratic, since the
President refused to take the issue to Congress. Lindbergh
.repeatedly called for “open discussion, more legislative au-
thority in foreign affairs, and limitations on the President’s
war-making powers.” These were the very arguments, as
Wayne S. Cole noted with a touch of irony iff a recent
book,* that “liberal internationalists would use in attacking
President Nixon thirty years later.”

It was largely Lindbergh’s effective assaults on what he
termed misuse of presidential powers that led the Roose-
velt administration to place the “Lone Eagle” and his anti-
war associates on their enemies list. Lindbergh, of course,
had made one ill-advised comment on what he termed
Jewish “agitation” to involve the United States in the war.
The remark set off an explosion which FDR exploited
to a fare-thee-well. According to Cole, Roosevelt delib-
erately “used that tactic of identifying isolationists with
Nazism to discredit Lindbergh.” This, says Cole, was
“fundamentally similar to” the tactics used by McCarthyites
“in attacking liberal internationalists in the early 1950’s.”

Not all isolationists were reactionaries by any means.
Quite a number were liberals, and even Socialists, whose
pacifist beliefs could not be altered even though the po-
tential enemy was Nazi Germany. One such was Norman
Thomas, who had appeared with Lindbergh at a number
of antiwar rallies around the country. The Socialist leader,

♦Wayne S. Cole, Charles A. Lindbergh and the Battle Against
American Intervention in World War 11 (New York: Harcourt
Brace Jovanovich, 1975).

164

VICTOR LASKY

who was embarrassed by Lindbergh’s reference to Jews,
said in his defense that the flier was “not as anti-Semitic as
some who seize the opportunity to criticize him.”

Thomas could well have been referring to FDR him-
self. For the President, though strongly backed by Jews
throughout his political career, was given to anti-Semitic
outbursts. Walter Trohan, the veteran Washington corre-
spondent, tells of one episode involving Governor Herbert
Lehman of New York.* The year was 1937, after FDR
had proposed “packing” the Supreme Court. Lehman,
though a stalwart New Dealer, spoke out against the pro-
posal.

Roosevelt, who was at Hyde Park at the time, was asked
what he had to say about Lehman’s statement. He lost his
smile and snapped: “What I have to say will have to be
off the record.”

The correspondents had no choice but to agree. But
they were taken aback when the President thrust out his
chin and sneered: “What else could you expect from a
Jew?”**

But probably FDR’s shabbiest act was his refusal to per-
mit a German ship carrying nearly 1,000 Jewish refugees
to unload its human cargo in the United States. This was
in 1939. The refugees, who had also been refused entry
into Cuba, were returned, to Europe where many of them
perished in the Nazi holocaust. Why did FDR turn these
pitiful people back? The best answer seems to be that he
was unwilling to buck American public opinion.

One of those who bitterly condemned FDR for turning
back the refugees was Norman Thomas, who had been ap-
pearing at America First rallies around the country. The

♦In his Political Animals (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1975),
p. 99.

♦♦FDR’s successor, Harry S Truman, also indulged in occasional
anti-Semitic slurs. A 1946 entry in the diaries of Henry A. Wallace,
recently unveiled by the University of Iowa, pictures an exasperated
Truman trying to cope with Zionist pressures for an independent
state of Israel. “President Truman expressed himself as being very
much ‘put out* with the Jews,” wrote Wallace, then Secretary of
Commerce, after a Cabinet luncheon. “He said that ‘Jesus Christ
couldn’t please them when he was here on earth, so how could
anyone expect that I would have any luck?’ President Truman said
he had no use for them and didn’t care what happened to them.”
Of course, HST’s anger cooled and in 1948, despite State Depart-
ment opposition, he approved the founding of the new Jewish state.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 165

antiwar movement was growing by leaps and bounds. It
attracted adherents of varied opinions (including some
who had been considered in the forefront of U.S. progres-
sivism), such as William Benton, Harry Elmer Barnes,
Charles A. Beard, Stuart Chase, Chester Bowles, John L.
Lewis, John T. Flynn, and Oswald Garrison Villard. When
Roosevelt announced his “shoot-on-sight” order (permit-
ting U.S. vessels to fire on any hostile vessel), such
luminaries as Philip C. Jessup, Edwin S. Corwin, Ray
Lyman Wilbur, Charles A. Beard, and Igor Sikorsky
signed a statement that called the new policy “a grave
threat to the Constitutional powers of Congress and to the
democratic principle of majority rule.” The order stood.

FDR took the offensive, terming his critics, and partic-
ularly Lindbergh, “Copperheads.” Thus, in effect, the
President called them “traitors.” Not only that but, accord-
ing to Cole, he ordered the wiretapping of their telephones;
and he asked that telegrams criticizing his defense policies
be sent to the FBI director for investigation and corre-
spondence endorsing Lindbergh’s opposition to U.S. ships
acting as convoys be filed by the Secret Service. Rarely had
any legitimate movement of American citizens, none of
whom had any links to any foreign power, faced such of-
ficial hostility, abuse, and repression. But most liberals
couldn’t have cared less. In fact they happily joined in the
witch-hunt.

Immediately after Pearl Harbor the America First Com-
mittee went out of business. “No good purpose can now
be served by considering what might have been,” the com-
mittee stated. “We are at war . . . the primary objective is
. . . victory.” Numerous leaders and members joined the
Roosevelt administration for the duration of the war. The
head of America First, Richard Stewart, along with Gen-
eral Robert E. Wood, were soon serving in the armed
forces, while Chester Bowles became head of the Office
of Price Administration. However, though he volunteered,
Lindbergh was not permitted to serve his country. Roose-
velt was not having him back in the Air Corps unless he
ate crow, apologizing for his antiwar views. This Lind-
bergh would not do.

Also sidelined for the war’s duration was Joe Kennedy,
who had wired his Commander-in-Chief: “Name the battle-
front. I’m yours to command.” The ambassador never

166

VICTOR LASKY

heard from Roosevelt. So he devoted the war years to
making money — and lots of it.

As Norman Thomas noted, the Lindbergh case was one
of the least attractive manifestations of FDR’s penchant
for personal vendetta — a startling example of a great
leader indulging in petty revenge and, in the process,
nearly depriving the nation of the services of a leading
aviation expert. But Lindbergh felt it his duty to serve.
Without permission of Washington he became a civilian
consultant to aircraft manufacturers and, as such, was sent
on missions to Europe and the Pacific area in behalf of
the U.S. Air Corps. On one occasion while flight-testing a
Republic “Thunderbolt” fighter, he nearly lost his life.
And, though a civilian, he flew combat missions against the
Japanese.

What the American Civil Liberties Union eventually
would call “the worst single wholesale violation of civil
rights of American citizens in our history” took place
shortly after Pearl Harbor with Roosevelt’s approval. Over
110,000 men, women, and children of Japanese ancestry —
both citizens and aliens — were forced out of their homes,
their properties expropriated, and evacuated to internment
camps guarded by troops.

This extraordinary measure was taken as a result of pres-
sures on the West Coast, where most of the Nisei lived.
The fear was that the Japanese- Americans would engage
in sabotage of vital installations. Doing most of the clamor-
ing for the mass internments, unprecedented in American
history, were such outspoken liberals as California’s Gover-
nor Culbert L. Olson and Attorney General Earl Warren.
Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson gave approval after he
had concluded that “their racial characteristics are such
that we cannot understand or trust even the citizen Japa-
nese.”

Roosevelt signed the evacuation order, a move supported
by Congress a month later. And the United States, officially
at war with an ideology based on concentration camps, had
its own concentration camps. Except for the likes of a tiny
handful of civil libertarians including Norman Thomas, the
liberal community was largely silent. The big Establish-
ment newspapers for the most part said nothing. Walter
Lippmann, normally so zealous of individual liberties, sup-
ported measures on the grounds that the Pacific Coast was

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 167

officially a battle zone and no one had a constitutional
right to “do business on a battlefield.” His views were en-
dorsed by Westbrook Pegler, who demanded that every
Japanese should be under armed guard, “and to hell with
habeas corpus until the danger is over.”

Only a few congressmen tried to stem the tide of
hysteria, the most notable being Senator Robert Taft. But
the Ohio Republican’s plea for sanity was drowned out by
what amounted to frenzied appeals to anti-yellow racism.
Significantly J. Edgar Hoover had also sought to prevent
the administration from going overboard against the Japa-
nese-Americans. In a memorandum to Attorney General
Francis Biddle, the director warned that “the necessity for
mass evacuation is based primarily upon public hysteria
and political pressure rather than on factual data.”

Roosevelt even flirted with the idea of interning Ger-
man aliens. But there was a problem, his Attorney General
told him: there were so many of them, perhaps 600,000.
“And you’re going to intern all of them?” Roosevelt asked.
Not quite, replied Biddle. Roosevelt then said, “I don’t
care so much about the Italians. They are a lot of opera
singers, but the Germans are different, they may be dan-
gerous.” Calmer heads prevailed, however, and there were
no mass roundups as there had been of the Japanese. Per-
haps, as some critics were to contend in years to come,
racism did play a major role in determining who was to be
interned.

In his biography of Roosevelt during the war years,
James MacGregor Burns analyzes the President’s peculiar
ambivalence toward civil liberties.* The Williams College
professor noted that “Roosevelt was not a strong civil
libertarian. Like Jefferson in earlier days, he was all for
civil liberties in general but easily found exceptions in
particular.”

According to Burns, Roosevelt told Biddle at a cabinet
meeting that while civil liberties were okay for 99 percent
of the American people, the Attorney General ought to
bear down on the rest. “When Biddle pleaded that it was
hard to get convictions, Roosevelt answered that when Lin-
coln’s Attorney General would not proceed against Vallan-

* Roosevelt: The Soldier of Freedom 1940-1945 (New York: Har-
court Brace Jovanovich, 1970), pp. 216-217.

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VICTOR LASKY

digham, Lincoln declared martial law in that county and
then had Vallandigham tried by a drumhead court-martial.
Earlier he had treated Biddle’s earnest support of civil
liberties as a joking matter. . . .”

“Indeed,” Burns continued, “Roosevelt seemed to enjoy
shocking the shy Philadelphian. Once, when J. Edgar
Hoover confessed to the President, in the Attorney Gen-
eral’s presence, that an FBI agent had tried to tap the
telephone wire of left-wing union leader Harry Bridges, and
had been caught in the act, Roosevelt roared with laughter,
slapped Hoover on the back, and shouted gleefully, ‘By
God, Edgar, that’s the first time you’ve been caught with
your pants down!’ ”

“To be sure,” Burns contended, “Roosevelt’s civil liber-
ties derelictions were not numerous, but certainly the war-
time White House was not dependably a source of strong
and sustained support for civil liberties in specific situa-
tions.”

Most assuredly not, but how certain can Professor Burns
be about the number of derelictions under Roosevelt? By
his own accounting they were indeed extensive. The tragedy
that befell innocent Americans of Japanese descent vio-
lated every guarantee in the American Constitution. And
only now, as a result of such revelations as the Sullivan
memorandum, are we beginning to learn the extent to
which FDR misused the FBI for political and/or personal
purposes. As for wiretapping and “bugging,” the record
clearly demonstrates FDR’s fondness for such illegal gath-
ering of information.

In May 1973 at the height of the controversy over
Watergate, Bob Considine asked John Roosevelt, the
President’s youngest son, what he thought about the scan-
dal. John Roosevelt responded, “I can’t understand all the
commotion in this case. Hell, my father just about invented
bugging. Had them spread all over, and thought nothing
of it.”

In retrospect, therefore, under the presidential impeach-
ment standards that became so popular against President
Nixon, Franklin Roosevelt could have been put on trial
by the Senate for violating civil liberties in wholesale
fashion; suborning illegalities by having antiwar and other
political opponents wiretapped and “bugged”; and waging
an undeclared war against Germany, Italy, and Japan, thus

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 169

making a mockery of his own “neutrality” pledges written
into law. In addition FDR repeatedly lied to the Ameri-
can people, as when he gave them “one more assurance.
. . . Your boys are not going to be sent into any foreign
wars.”

Roosevelt’s campaign to destroy the Supreme Court
by “packing” it with rubber stamp justices would have
been enough, in today’s climate of opinion, to have justified
impeachment proceedings. It was a blow against the inde-
pendence of a coordinate branch unrivaled by any earlier
or later President. According to Arthur Krock, FDR was
even prepared to defy the High Court. This was in 1935,
when the court was considering an act of Congress which,
at Roosevelt’s behest, had canceled the gold repayment
clause in contracts both private and governmental. Fearing
the act would be overturned, FDR composed a “fireside
chat” to announce he would not comply, citing the Golden
Rule, the Scriptures, and “the dictates of common sense”
— but not the Constitution, As it turned out, the court
narrowly upheld the act. FDR confided to an aide: “The
nation will never know what a great treat it missed in not
hearing the marvelous radio address.”

But for sheer eyebrow-lifting arrogance there was the
way in which FDR used his high office to assist his sons,
James and Elliott, in efforts to make their fortunes. All any-
one who wanted important favors from the administration
had to do was take out insurance in a firm in which James
was a parftner. Thus Pan American Airways insured many
of its new Pacific clippers with the Roosevelt company. As
did the Columbia Broadcasting System, dependent for its
life on government license. The Fox Theater Building in
Los Angeles stood on land that required title insurance;
Joe Schenck, a Fox official, was in the slammer at the
time and seeking a federal pardon. The broker who had
negotiated a $315,000 policy on the land was told that the
Roosevelt company would take over this business. In all,
according to an article in the Saturday Evening Post , James
Roosevelt made over $1 million from his insurance com-
pany at the height of the Depression.

Even more horrendous in his wheeling-and-dealing, al-
ways using his White House connections, was Elliott Roose-
velt. On one occasion Elliott had his father talk by phone
with the principal owner of the Atlantic and Pacific Tea

170

VICTOR LASKY

Company, John Hartford, to suggest that a $200,000 loan
to his son would be “appreciated.” The A&P was then
under attack by New Deal Congressman Wright Patman
of Texas, who had been talking about hitting such chain
store operations with more taxes.

So what’s a businessman to do under these extraordinary
circumstances? Well, Hartford did it. The next day he
gave Elliott a check for $200,000 and accepted a block of
radio stock as collateral. This was in 1939. Hartford, who
knew that it was a bad loan, never did hear from Elliott
again personally. But that was all right, as he later told a
congressional committee, since he figured that by making
the loan, he was “being taken off the hook.”

In 1942 FDR asked Jesse Jones, the head of the Recon-
struction Finance Corporation, to straighten out Elliott’s
financial problems. Jones met with Hartford and convinced
him to accept a $4,000 settlement, writing off the $196,000
loss on his income tax returns. As part of the deal Hartford
returned the radio stock. Later it developed that the stock
was worth around $1 million. The President sent the stock
to Elliott’s divorced second wife, half for herself and half
in trust for the children.

As John T. Flynn noted in his antagonistic biography
The Roosevelt Myth , “It is probable that in all the history
of the government this was the first time that such a trick
was turned by an American president and by one who ex-
hibited himself before the people as the most righteous
paragon of moral and political excellence that had ever oc-
cupied that office.”

There was, of course, critical publicity about this un-
savory episode; but there was no congressional or public
outcry about its constituting such gross misuse of presi-
dential influence as to warrant impeachment proceedings.

Which raises the question: How did FDR escape the in-
dignation and rebellion against the inflation of presidental
powers that eventually brought down Nixon?

For one thing, the nation was in an all-out war (one
which some critics claimed FDR deliberately helped get us
into in the first place), a tough, widespread conflict fought
on various oceans and continents. And whatever else can
be said of him, Franklin Roosevelt was a superb Com-
mander-in-Chief, one whose vibrant voice inspired con-
fidence at a crucial time.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 171

Then, too, Roosevelt had a completely subservient Con-
gress, one overwhelmingly controlled by his own party.
Moreover he was a superb party leader as well as an expert
at dispensing patronage in the right places.

FDR had also won over most of the Washington press
corps. Except for a handful of “reactionaries” who worked
for such papers as the Chicago Tribune , most of the report-
ers covering the White House considered the President to
be beyond reproach. Anti-New Dealers among corre-
spondents were actually shunned by their more numerous
colleagues. On one occasion Roosevelt himself figuratively
pinned an Iron Cross on an anti-war columnist. The mes-
sage was clear to would-be dissenters.

But the main reason FDR got away with his assorted
shenanigans was that most Americans, even if they had
known of all of them, couldn’t have cared less. They looked
at the man’s whole record and decided that getting out of
the lingering economic depression was far more important
to them than lofty debates about the misuse of presidential
powers. Of course it could have been argued (as it was)
that the New Deal was only succeeding in finally eradicat-
ing mass unemployment by plunging the nation into war.
But for many Americans then eking out a meager existence,
that at best was an academic argument. It was only later,
with the nation reaching its greatest affluence in history
in conditions of peace, that the American people could
afford the luxury of driving a President out of office.

Despite the violent resentments and vitriolic attacks that
he inspired, there was never any serious effort to oust
Roosevelt from office. If anything, thanks to a clever and
often unscrupulous propaganda campaign directed by the
White House, his opponents were depicted as “appeasers,”
“Fascists,” “economic royalists,” and much worse. And
the majority of Americans loved it, as they demonstrated
when he permitted himself to be drafted for an unprece-
dented third term in 1940. FDR won easily, then repeating
his triumph — a dying man — in 1944. And today, because
historians like Arthur Schlesinger and James MacGregor
Burns were so enamored of FDR’s strong presidency, a
monumental bibliography attests to his greatness.

But some intellectuals are having second thoughts. As
Professor Philip Kurland, a constitutional scholar at the
University of Chicago Law School, has observed: “When

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VICTOR LASKY

it is a President with what has come to be called ‘charisma,’
a Franklin Delano Roosevelt or a John Fitzgerald Kennedy,
some of us have applauded the seizure of power by the
President. When that office is occupied by one whose ob-
jectives are less to our tastes, we deplore the power that
has become his to exercise.”

Thus when Richard Nixon charged that his administra-
tion was being judged by a double standard, it could be
argued that he was indulging in uncharacteristic understate-
ment.

Of course FDR has all but joined the deities on Olym-
pus. When the Nixon tapes were published, former FDR
aides insisted that the level of discussion in their White
House was far more elevated. According to James Rowe,
Jr., for example, FDR ruled the White House with “un-
diluted charm”; and he added, “I cannot ever remember
hearing him swear.” Yet some of the conversations be-
tween FDR and his aides were hardly charming.

On April 30, 1943 — according to contemporaneous notes
taken by his administrative assistant (and later press sec-
retary) Jonathan Daniels — there was a discussion of the
Fair Employment Practices Committee, reluctantly set up
by FDR under Negro pressure. Also present in the Oval
Office were Marvin McIntyre, a secretary to the President,
and Elmer Davis, director of the Office of War Informa-
tion. FDR agreed to Daniels’s suggestion that FEPC prob-
lems “be centered in McIntyre rather than have several
people around town fooling with it.”* Daniels also pro-
posed that the matter be settled before President Edwin
Barclay of Liberia arrived in Washington for a visit.

Which reminded Roosevelt of his trip to Liberia follow-
ing the Casablanca conference. While there, the President
said he had talked to some medical officers who were ap-
palled by the venereal disease rate among our Negro troops.

“I suppose it must be ten or twelve percent,” the Presi-
dent said to one of the officers.

“Ten or twelve!” said the officer. “It’s seventy-five per-
cent.”

The same officer had told the President that the venereal
disease rate among Liberians was 100 percent.

♦This story and others are told in Jonathan Daniels’s, White House
Witness : 1942-1945 (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1975).

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 173

“I suppose,” FDR added, “they all get it before they
are grown, as I understand there is no such thing as chastity
in Liberia after the age of five or six.”

Whereupon Elmer Davis wondered about President Bar-~
clay’s condition. After all, he was coming for a stay at the
White House. Davis suggested that they could wash off the
toilet seat with Lysol. Following the war, Davis became
one of American liberalism’s most powerful voices on
radio.*

According to Daniels, the conversation shifted in content
but not in bawdiness. Davis said he had been having a row
with the War Department, which had been grabbing off
much of the rubber supply. As a result there was a shortage
of elastic and women were bitterly complaining that they
weren’t able to keep their pants up. Davis said that the
OWI had suggested to the War Department that if the army
kept its soldiers at home at night it wouldn’t make any
difference.

“Such is the conversation in the presidential office on
occasion,” wrote Daniels.

On July 29, 1943, another “charming” discussion was
held in the Oval Office. Present, besides the President and
Daniels, was Welch Pogue, chairman of the Civil Aero-
nautics Board. Roosevelt got right to the point. He wanted
to talk about the airline situation. He said he had discussed
with the British, when Chamberlain was prime minister,
the development of the West Indies — British, American,
Dutch, and French. And the way to do it, he said, was
through the tourist. In other words, he added, he wanted
those islands to produce more than “sugar and niggers.”

On January 13, 1944, Daniels conferred with FDR’s
press secretary Stephen Early about adverse publicity Harry
Hopkins had been receiving in connection with allegations
that he had received a “jeweled payoff” from Lord Beaver-
brook for having helped push through a multibillion-dollar
Lend-Lease program to assist the beleaguered British. The
allegations, first published in the anti-administration Wash-
ington Times-Herald , were picked up by Republican lead-
ers, who demanded an explanation. Hopkins, of course,
was FDR’s most intimate adviser. And his wife issued a

♦In 1976, Earl Butz was forced to resign as Gerald Ford’s Secre-
tary of Agriculture because he told an anti-Black joke in private.

174 VICTOR LASKY

denial. “I don’t even own one emerald,” she said. “It’s a
lie. I never owned an emerald and don’t own one now.”
In what seemed to be a White House denial, Early himself
spoke of “the malicious rumors and statements now being
published by certain newspapers hostile to the Government
and to certain officials of the Government.”

But Early had a different story to tell Daniels that frosty
January morning. “The trouble is to find a clean spot on
Harry anywhere,” he said. The Beaverbrook jewels couldn’t
be explained away because, while they weren’t emeralds,
they most certainly were diamonds. “I have seen them my-
self,” Early went on. “Fortunately for Harry they were an-
tique diamond clips which had been in Beaverbrook’s fam-
ily for some time. Harry didn’t declare them and smuggled
them into the country. He sent them over to [Assistant
Secretary of the Treasury] Gaston and said he wanted a
statement from them to the effect that they were declared
for duty and what about it. They had them appraised and
examined and established the fact that they were antique
and, as such, not subject to duty.”

Dirty tricks as practiced in Roosevelt’s time were also
described by Daniels. It seems that while Vice President
Wallace was Secretary of Agriculture, he had written a
number of letters indicating that he was receiving inspira-
tion for government policies from the spirit world. As
David Niles, a presidential troubleshooter, told the story
to Daniels on August 3, 1943, the letters had fallen into
Republican hands sometime during the 1940 campaign
when FDR was running against Wendell Willkie.

A medium who had been fired from Agriculture ap-
parently stole the letters right out of Wallace’s files. Roy
Howard was offered them for publication; though a good
Republican he turned them down. The letters finally were
purchased by another publisher, Paul Block, who sent a
reporter to confront Wallace with them. Niles added:
“We were afraid that Wallace, being an honest guy, would
say, ‘Yes, I wrote them — so what?’ ”

“Morris Ernst,” Niles went on, “did a good job. He
was sent West to meet Wallace, who was coming to
Chicago, to see to it that this reporter didn’t get to Wallace.
Every day the Democrats expected the story to break. I
must have lost fifty pounds in three weeks. We went out
and dug up some dirty stuff on Willkie, with photographs

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 175

showing that WiUkie’s father had been buried in potter’s
field as a drunkard with whom Willkie would have noth-
ing to do. Only after the presidential campaign began did
he have his body moved to a decent part of the cemetery.

We let the Republicans know that if they used the Wallace
stuff, we were going to use the stuff on Willkie. The Wal-
lace letters were never used, but they are still in the posses-
sion of the Republicans.”

The various Roosevelt campaigns were rough indeed.
Former GOP chairman John D.M. Hamilton contends, for
example, that his office was bugged when he was cam-
paign manager for Alfred Landon’s presidential race in ^ •
1936. Hamilton claims that the bugging was ordered by
FDR’s Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes, who was
known to have a penchant for illegal eavesdropping. The
bugging in Hamilton’s office was quickly discovered by the
GOP’s security expert. “We never announced anything or
made any public charges,” Hamilton told the National
Observer . “We just used that phone to leak out wrong in-
formation to the Democrats to make them look silly, and
when we wanted to say anything private, we went to an-
other phone.”

Hamilton Fish, who served as a New York congressman
from 1921 to 1945, was a Republican high on FDR’s
“enemies” list. Though a fellow Harvard man and fellow
mid-Hudson politician. Fish was barred from the White
House because, FDR believed, he had made a nasty re-
mark about the President’s mother. This Fish denies. But
the fact remains that Fish was an opponent of the New
Deal who had built a following around the country. And,
as war clouds thickened, Fish was one of the more vocifer-
ous leaders of the antiwar movement.

Almost from the beginning of FDR’s reign he found
himself harassed because of his anti-New Deal views, says
Fish. In a letter to The New York Times at the height of
the Ervin hearings, Fish recalled “a telephone call from
Senator Reed in the nineteen-thirties to tell me that my
phone was being tapped, and so were those of many other
Republican members of Congress. . . .”

Two weeks before the outbreak of World War II Fish
attended an interparliamentary conference in Norway as
chairman of a congressional group where, he says, he “was
promptly spied upon by our own Government. Reports of

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VICTOR LASKY

my visits with British Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax and
French Foreign Minister Georges Bonnet are now resting
in the archives of the State Department.”

“And speaking of ‘enemies,’ ” Fish continued, “no one
had more political enemies than the highly vindictive
FDR. I was one of them, and for five years my income
tax reports were minutely investigated (as were my wife’s).
That effort occupied at least half a dozen Internal Revenue
agents and must have cost at least $50,000. The result:

I got an $80 refund.

“You might ask why I didn’t complain to Speaker Ray-
burn when I found out that my wires were being tapped.
There is a simple answer: He would have told me that
there was nothing I could do about it.

“And this sums up the situation. During all of the Roose-
velt and most of the Johnson Administrations, the Dem-
ocrats controlled Congress, so no matter what a Democratic
President would do, there was no chance whatever of hav-
ing an open investigation, much less one broadcast na-
tionwide on television.”

Roosevelt had also ordered the FBI to put taps on the
home telephones of several of his own top advisers, includ-
ing Hopkins and Tommy “The Cork” Corcoran. FDR
suspected that Hopkins’s wife was leaking anti-administra-
tion information to the Washington Times-Herald, pub-
lished by the rabidly anti-New Deal Eleanor (“Cissy”)
Patterson. Needless to say, there was no love lost between
the President and this lady. When Morris Ernst wrote him
saying he was going to interview the publisher on behalf of
his client Walter Winchell and proposed to “examine Cissy
down to her undies,” the President asked not to be present
on that occasion — “I have a weak stomach.” Mrs. Patter-
son, incidentally, believed that she was being wiretapped;
but there is nothing in FBI records to indicate that, if
true, the Bureau had anything to do with it.

When Truman became President in 1945, he instructed
his military aide, Brigadier General Harry Vaughan, to
deal directly with J. Edgar Hoover. As a result Vaughan
began receiving transcripts of the taps on FDR’s aides.
According to Vaughan, he showed Truman a transcript
of the tap on Corcoran. The new President was most un-
impressed. In fact he was horrified when he glanced at one
transcript which was mainly about Mrs. Corcoran making

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 177

appointments with her hairdresser. “Well, I don’t give a
goddam whether Mrs. Corcoran gets her hair fixed or
doesn’t get her hair fixed,” Truman told Vaughan. “What
the hell is that crap?”

“It’s a wiretap,” Vaughan replied.

“Cut them all off,” the President said angrily. “Tell the
FBI we haven’t got any time for that kind of shit.”

But the tap on Corcoran was not cut off. For Corcoran’s
activities reportedly chagrined Truman on the grounds that
they might “interfere with the proper administration of
government.” According to the Senate Intelligence Com-
mittee, “More than 175 reports overheard on the wiretap,
which continued until 1948, were delivered to the Truman
White House.”

As the French say: The more things change, the more
they remain the same.

THIRTEEN

In an editorial published on March 4, 1975 — seven months
after Richard Nixon left for his self-imposed “exile” in
San Clemente — the Washington Star had this to say:
“Watergate investigators who so diligently dug into mis-
use of government agencies by the Nixon Administration
managed, either accidentally or deliberately, to overlook
or play down flagrant abuses by previous administrations.”
For the moment let us rest the role of the media itself
in participating in what amounted to a massive cover-up of
the political excesses and abuses of power of presidents
who preceded Nixon. Suffice it to say that when evidence
of such transgressions occasionally turned up in the course
of investigations conducted by the Watergate Committee,
for example, the nation’s leading newspapers and television
networks, for the most part, decided to ignore them.
And, for the most part, they still do.

In the same editorial the Star also said, in connection
with high-level misuse of the FBI for political purposes:
“One of the worst White House offenders appears to have
been Lyndon Johnson.”

This was pretty much the expert judgment of William
Sullivan, formerly number three man at the FBI, who of-
fered to testify before the Watergate Committee on behalf
of the Nixon administration in order to “draw a very
clear contrast” between its relationship with the FBI and
that of previous administrations. At the time Sullivan told
John Dean that his documented testimony would place the
Nixon administration in “a very favorable light.”

But the Democratic-controlled committee wasn’t buying.
Chairman Ervin explained that his mandate was to in-
vestigate the 1972 election and nothing else. There was
no way that committee Republicans (or at least two of

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 179

them) could budge the Great Constitutionalist. They just
didn’t have the votes.

According to the Sullivan memorandum, Johnson went
much further than FDR in misusing the FBI. He had no
hesitation about using the Bureau for personal investiga-
tions. Thus when Don Reynolds testified about kickbacks
extorted from him in connection with life insurance policies
he had sold Johnson, the President called for a thorough
investigation of the insurance salesman. Among other
things LBJ wanted the FBI to determine whether the Re-
publicans had given Reynolds $25,000 for “bribery pur-
poses.” After running a check, the FBI reported no. But
the Bureau (as did other investigatory agencies) did turn
up some embarrassing personal information about Rey-
nolds which the White House leaked to friendly newsmen.

Johnson also ordered top FBI officials to get him any-
thing and everything about his 1964 Republican op-
ponent, because Goldwater was a major general in the Air
Force Reserve and, according to LBJ, had more “secrets”
than “we have in the White House.”

According to Sullivan, Johnson would rely on “devious
and complex” ways to “ask the FBI for derogatory infor-
mation of one type or another on Senators in his own
Democratic Party who were opposing him. This informa-
tion he would give to Republican Senator Dirksen, who
would use it with telling effect.”

While the memo did not go into detail as to the kind
of FBI information LBJ had provided the Senate Minority
Leader, all indications were that the targets of the Dirksen
assaults were legislators who opposed the President on
Vietnam. Needless to say, the President had every right to
zero in on adversaries even within his own party. Ques-
tionable, however, was the use he made of supposedly con-
fidential information obtained by the FBI. This was in-
formation he was not entitled to in the first place. More-
over it was intelligence which the FBI should never have
gathered.

In retrospect it is ironic that LBJ, who did so much to
manipulate the FBI for improper purposes, himself feared
Hoover’s power. “I would rather have him inside the tent
pissing out than outside the tent pissing in,” the President
once said. And, according to the Sullivan memorandum,

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VICTOR LASKY

LBJ was constantly asking whether the FBI had a wiretap
on his phone.

But where LBJ really went overboard in violating all
the rules was in ordering the FBI to set up a special squad
to be used personally by him at both the 1964 and 1968
Democratic National Conventions. “The cover would be
that it was a security squad to be used against militants,”
wrote Sullivan. “Nothing of this scope had ever been done
before or since to my memory.” And that, of course, ap-
plies to the Nixon administration.

Heading the thirty-one member “special squad” at At-
lantic City, where the 1964 convention was held, was
Cartha “Deke” DeLoach, then the FBI’s liaison with LBJ.

The major assignment of the FBI task force was to set
up electronic surveillance of several civil rights leaders, in-
cluding Dr. Martin Luther King. At LBJ’s direction “bugs”
and wiretaps were installed in the hotel suite occupied by
King and in a storefront that was used as a headquarters by
several civil rights groups. Also monitored by electronic
devices were James Farmer, then national director of the
Congress of Racial Equality and later a high Nixon of-
ficial, and Mrs. Fannie Lou Hamer, another civil rights
activist.

The information gathered by the surveillances was re-
ported directly to Johnson by DeLoach, on a direct tele-
phone line to the Oval Office specially installed to bypass
the White House switchboard. The President was given in-
formation on these electronic surveillances on almost an
hourly basis all during convention week. Johnson’s ap-
petite for such information was insatiable.

That information included the doings of Attorney Gen-
eral Kennedy, especially what he was saying to King and
others in the civil rights movement. This also involved
physical surveillance of those delegates friendly to the
Kennedy family. At the time the President was fearful —
with some justification — that Bobby might seek to stampede
the delegates into supporting him for Vice President.

Nevertheless Dr. King’s civil liberties — among other
things, his right to privacy — were most definitely violated
by an Imperial presidency gone bananas.

It was particularly ironic that the 1964 wiretapping and
bugging involved both King and Kennedy, since the latter,
as Attorney General, had ordered an earlier tap on the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 181

civil rights leader because of allegations that a Soviet-
connected Communist was in his entourage.

Another irony was that nine years later the Watergate
Committee was fully apprised of these shocking viola-
tions of political morality by the Johnson administration.
Yet Chairman Ervin refused to permit the release of a staff
memorandum on the subject, on the spurious grounds that
the committee had not been empowered to look into any-
thing but the 1972 election. That supposedly ironbound rule
did not prevent the committee from publicizing Nixon mis-
deeds of preceding years.

The long-buried memo finally surfaced when Ronald
Kessler of the Washington Post learned of its existence.
On January 26, 1975, the Post published details of the
document, which had summarized a 1973 interview with
the former agent in charge of the FBI’s office in Atlantic
City.

The former agent, Leo Clark, was quoted as saying that
the FBI operation was designed to gather intelligence on
potential violence or disruptions at the convention. But, he
conceded, he had been instructed by DeLoach not to in-
form the Secret Service of the operation, even though it
supposedly was in charge of protecting the President. Nor
was he to discuss the electronic surveillance with the FBI’s
Newark office, which was supposed to have coordinated
security at the convention.

And there were these additional details:

On instructions from DeLoach, Clark determined where
Dr. King and Jim Farmer would be staying while attend-
ing the convention. Clark said he was also told to check the
whereabouts of other civil rights leaders with surveillance
in mind.

After learning that King would be stopping at the
Claridge Hotel, Clark was instructed to survey the build-
ing to determine the feasibiilty of installing wiretaps as well
as microphone (bug) surveillance. Clark then arranged
with the hotel management to provide King with adjoining
rooms 1901, 1902, and 1903. Prior to King’s arrival these
rooms were surveyed by two FBI technical men.

Clark reserved a room for himself, a floor below King’s
suite. He said his room was used to monitor transmissions
of wiretaps and bugs from Dr. King’s quarters, as well as
from an Atlantic Avenue storefront used by CORE and

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VICTOR LASKY

other groups. Though Clark did not say so, obviously a
break-in had been necessary to install the electronic equip-
ment at the storefront.

The conversations were monitored on a twenty-four-
hour basis by FBI agents as well as tape-recorded. The
information was transmitted by telephone to DeLoach and
two other agents at a control center on the second floor
of the old Post Office Building. According to the commit-
tee memo, Clark recalled

overhearing DeLoach speaking on the telephone to
President Johnson and to Director Hoover, giving
them summary information from the technical sur-
veillance.

In a DeLoach conversation with the President,
Clark heard mention of discussions concerning the
seating of delegates or delegations, of vice presidential
candidate possibilities, and the identities of Congress-
men and Senators going in and out of King’s quarters.

Robert Kennedy’s activities were of special interest,
including his contacts with King. There was particular
interest in learning who was seeking the support of
the black leaders and the maneuvering of the black
factions with regard to the seating of the Mississippi
delegations.

The FBI also relied on paid informants, who infiltrated
liberal and Black organizations and reported on their do-
ings to DeLoach as well as FBI supervisor Elmer Todd.
One of those paid informants was none other than Julius
Hobson, who later became one of Washington’s more
militant Black spokesmen.* Among Hobson’s assignments
was reporting regularly on the challenge by the Negro-led
Freedom Democratic party of Mississippi, which sent its
own delegation to Atlantic City to demand that it be seated
instead of the Jim Crow “Regulars.”

Johnson was particularly interested in what was taking
place inside the primarily Black delegation because he
feared it might threaten the tight control he had over the

♦An embarrassed Hobson later admitted to being paid $200 by the
FBI, but he denied giving the Bureau any vital information. FBI
sources, however, termed him “very productive.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 183

convention. For one thing the President feared that the
picketing by civil rights activists in behalf of unseating
the mostly white “Regulars” would mar the facade of
Democratic unity he was hoping to demonstrate to the
country.

And, as Tom Wicker was to observe eleven years later
in The New York Times , “There is no great difference in
wiretapping the Democratic National Committee and the
Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party.”

“In one sense,” Wicker went on, “it might even be to
Mr. Nixon’s credit that he used his private ‘plumbers’ in
1972 rather than perverting the FBI as Lyndon Johnson
appears to have done in 1964. Nor does it seem likely
that Mr. Nixon knew more of what was being done in his
service than Mr. Johnson did, or President Kennedy before
that.”

At the 1964 Democratic Convention the FBI got false
press credentials through NBC and thus was able to insert
agents, posing as reporters, within left-wing and civil rights
groups. According to an official FBI document, the agents
“were furnished with NBC press credentials” through “co-
operation with the management of NBC News.”* A report
on convention activities, written by DeLoach on August 29,
1964, contained these paragraphs:

Additionally, we utilized a highly successful cover
through cooperation of the (deleted) furnished us
credentials. I selected several members of the squad
to use this cover. As an example, one of our “re-
porters” was able to gain the confidence (deleted).

Our “reporter” was so successful, in fact, that (de-
leted) “off the record information” for background
purposes, which he requested our “reporter” not to
print.

♦NBC, in a statement by its chairman Julian Goodman, said that a
company investigation had found nothing to corroborate the claim
that FBI agents had received press credentials from the network,
permitting them to pose as newsmen at the 1964 Democratic Con-
vention. The New York Times, which carried the statement on No-
vember 23, 1975, quoted “executives at NBC News’* as suggesting
the possibility that the Democratic National Committee had pro-
vided the FBI with false NBC identification. The DNC, which had
been playing the martyr’s role since Watergate, said nothing. Obvious-
ly no one wanted to take responsibility for this “dirty trick.”

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VICTOR LASKY

One of our (deleted) successfully established con-
tact with (deleted) Saturday night, August 22nd, and
maintained this relationship throughout the course of
the entire Convention. By midweek, he had become
one of (deleted) confidants. This, of course, proved
to be a highly valuable source of intelligence since (de-
leted) was constantly trying to incite racial groups
to violence. . . .

During the period when the Convention was actual-
ly in progress, we established a secondary command
post at the Convention Hall Rotunda operated by an
Agent using his “reporter” cover. As you know, the
boardwalk was the center of agitation by dissident
elements. Throughout the course of the Convention,
pickets were active in the area immediately in front
of the Convention Hall entrance. We necessarily kept
these people under close observation.*

Counsel for the Freedom Democrats was none other
than LBJ’s old nemesis, Joe Rauh, and that was enough
to trigger one of the President’s tirades. When Rauh re-
jected a compromise proposed by LBJ confidant Fortas,
the President himself ordered Walter Reuther to fly to At-
lantic City and force Rauh, who was serving as counsel
to the United Auto Workers, to accept it.

Not that LBJ gave a damn about the almost lily-white
Mississippi delegation. He felt sure that, on returning
home, it would wind up supporting Goldwater, which it
did. But he believed that the militants were only interested
in getting television coverage which would embarrass him.
And, in fact, they were succeeding. A reporter later wrote
that a top executive of one of the major TV networks was
pushed into swift action when his secretary told him the
White House was calling. “Get your goddam cameras off
the niggers out front and back on the speaker’s stand in-
side, goddam it!” the President shouted on the phone. With-
in minutes those cameras left the pickets on the outside
of Convention Hall and began focusing on the tedium of
the speaker’s platform!

♦The deletions were made in the reproductions of the DeLoach
memorandum published in Volume 6 of the hearings conducted
by the Senate Intelligence (Committee on the activities of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation, pp. 496-497.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 185

As it turned out, the conflicts were resolved quietly and
commentators on the scene marveled at the perfect control
Johnson appeared to be exerting on the proceedings from
the White House. “The interesting question is why he had
such complete control,” wrote Walter Lippmann at the
conclusion of the convention. “Quite evidently he is a
great politician, but what is the secret of his greatness as a
politician?”

It took a decade before the secret was learned. LBJ had
known almost everything about what his possible opponents
were doing and saying, unbeknownst to them. He had as
much mastery over the proceedings as the Kremlin does
at one of its “historic” gatherings. Nothing was left to
chance. Even the contents of the convention’s souvenir
book required his approval. A White House aide was back-
stage to control the duration of the applause whenever
LBJ’s name was mentioned. Film clips shown to the
delegates were to be cropped of all shots of Bobby Ken-
nedy; and a documentary on the late President Kennedy,
which was supposed to have been shown the first night,
was not projected until the night after the nominations lest
a groundswell be touched off for Bobby. Moreover the plat-
form committee could not make a move without LBJ’s
approval. Among the planks he rejected were those call-
ing for “peaceful demonstrations,” legislative reapportion-
ment, and disarmament.

Those who attended the uncontested convention, as did
this writer, can only agree that it was probably one of the
dullest ever held by either party. Which makes the FBI
response to the Washington Post disclosure even more
shocking. “As a result of a request from the White
House,” a spokesman said, “the FBI did coordinate the
development of intelligence information concerning the
plans of subversive, criminal and hoodlum groups attempt-
ing to disrupt the Democratic National Convention at
Atlantic City in 1964.”

There are several things wrong with this explanation. In
the first place the targets weren’t hoodlums. They were
well-known civil rights leaders, including Dr. King. Sec-
ondly, if disruption had been the problem, then it didn’t
make sense for the White House and the FBI to have cut
out the Secret Service, the regional FBI office, the local
police and, for that matter, Attorney General Kennedy.

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VICTOR LASKY

The shocking unlawfulness of the entire operation, as
outlined by Leo Clark, who has since retired from the
FBI after twenty-two years of service, is dramatized by the
fact that Kennedy’s approval was never requested. Instead,
DeLoach indicated, Johnson had given strict orders to by-
pass the Attorney General.

Even The New York Times , which had been leading its
constituency to believe that Richard Nixon was guilty of
inventing every evil since original sin, became upset by
the Clark testimony: “If the strong inferences to be drawn
from the former agent’s disclosure are correct, the 1964
incident is an even graver offense than the original Water-
gate break-in, for it represented the turning of a police in-
strument of Government to illegal activities for political
purposes.”

And, as Tom Wicker observed in the Times , the ma-
terial in the files of the Watergate Committee “lends
credence to Senator Goldwater’s belief that, as Mr. John-
son’s Republican opponent, he was wiretapped in 1964; and
to Mr. Nixon’s charge that when he was running against
Hubert Humphrey in 1968, Mr. Johnson — still in the
White House — eavesdropped on the Republican candi-
dates.”

Gold water not only was wiretapped during the 1964
campaign, but he discovered that his Washington apart-
ment had been “bugged.” It had been an amateurish job and
the Republican candidate quickly spotted the microphonic
device in his living room. As he recalls the episode, he
laughed and then yanked the “bug” out from behind a
piece of furniture. After discussing the episode with aides,
he forgot it during the heat of the campaign.

But in retrospect Goldwater wonders just how the bug
had been installed inside his apartment. Obviously a
break-in cl la Watergate was involved. At the time he did
not give the episode much thought, believing that was the
way LBJ played the game. Nevertheless the candidate did
warn Republican Chairman Dean Burch to make sure
that LBJ’s spies didn’t “bug” national headquarters. Burch
ordered certain offices soundproofed to prevent such hap-
penings. And the entire headquarters was “swept” frequent-
ly to ensure against bugs as well as wiretaps.

At the height of the Watergate furor Goldwater told an

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 187

Indianapolis press conference that if Democrats had been
involved in a Watergate type of break-in, the media would
have called it “cute” rather than criminal. “The press
never goes after those things when it concerns a Demo-
crat, just a Republican,” he added.

“As far as cover-ups go,” the Arizonan went on, he be-
lieved there was more of a cover-up involved at Chappa-
quiddick. “If I had run that girl off that bridge, you
wouldn’t have heard the end of it,” he said.

Recalling 1964, Goldwater said, “I’m convinced that
Johnson had my television speeches before I saw them.
They seemed to know everything I was going to do, every-
thing I was going to say. But again, if a Democrat does
it, that’s cute.”

That the Democrats had access to Goldwater’s speeches
was confirmed by John Roche, a speechwriter for the
Johnson-Humphrey campaign. “Somehow or other,” he
wrote, “we used to get advance texts of Senator Goldwater’s
key speeches. The consequence of this was that before
Goldwater had even opened his mouth, we had five speakers
primed to reply. Maybe he sent them over as a courtesy,
but all I know is that when I innocently inquired how we
got them, the reply was ‘don’t ask.’ ”

One of the sources of the speeches apparently was none
other than E. Howard Hunt, Jr., later convicted as one of
the masterminds of the Watergate break-in. In 1964 Hunt
was serving as chief of covert action for the CIA’s Do-
mestic Operations Division. At that time he was ordered
by C. Tracey Barnes to spy on Goldwater’s campaign
headquarters. He set up a special unit and arranged for a
daily pick-up of “any and all information” about Gold-
water and his plans. These included advance copies of the
candidate’s speeches, texts which often had not yet been
made available to the press.

According to Hunt, Barnes had received orders to spy on
Goldwater directly from the President. Hunt also testified
that the materials picked up at Republican headquarters,
including press releases and travel schedules, were deliv-
ered to White House aide Chester L. Cooper, a former
CIA official.

As a Goldwater Republican himself, Hunt said he was
opposed to the assignment. In fact he was “shocked by this

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VICTOR LASKY

intrusion into Goldwater’s affairs.” But he was told that
it didn’t make any difference, that “Johnson had ordered
this activity and that Cooper would be the recipient of
the information.”

Cooper denied any knowledge of CIA surveillance of
Goldwater, or even knowing Hunt. “I knew that we were
getting Goldwater’s speeches . . . the stuff that was going
to the press,” he said. “How the hell it got there, I don’t
know.”

Obviously someone’s memory appeared to be faulty — and
only further probing by appropriate investigatory bodies
could have helped ascertain the truth. But Chairman Ervin
was not interested in digging into the sins of Democratic
administrations.

Part of the story was later confirmed, however. Testify-
ing before the House Select Committee on Intelligence on
November 6, 1975, CIA Director William Colby acknowl-
edged that in 1964 a CIA official attached to the National
Security Council prepared campaign material for Johnson
and, with the help of another CIA employee, got advance
texts of Goldwater’s speeches and reported regularly on
the campaign to the CIA. The official was identified as
Chester Cooper, than an assistant deputy director of in-
telligence. The other employee, a woman secretary, had
since retired. No mention was made of Howard Hunt.

But, as Hunt later told The New York Times, he most
definitely was involved in the CIA procurement of in-
telligence on LBJ’s Republican opposition. And, explain-
ing his involvement in Watergate, he added: “Since I’d
done it once before for the CIA, why wouldn’t I do it
again for the White House?”

Hunt had also told all to Senator Howard Baker in the
fall of 1973. Baker, a Republican member of the Water-
gate Committee, along with Fred Thompson, the minority
counsel, had been quizzing the former intelligence agent
about the CIA’s domestic activities, seeking to determine
whether there were any links between the Agency and
Watergate.

After news of what Hunt had said during the interview
leaked in the press, Goldwater disclosed that he had been
informed that Hunt and a team “that could have been as
many as thirty people not just working on me, but working

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 189

on other people, too” had operated out of offices in down-
town Washington. That such an office existed, several
blocks from the White House, has been established. The
office was located in the National Press Building. There
Hunt and his staff ran another CIA operation known as
Continental Press, which funded “much of the activities
of the Frederick D. Praeger Publishing Company in New
York,” as well as supplying anti-Communist news articles
to foreign clients.

During the campaign, Goldwater said, he was aware that
he was being kept under surveillance. “I just assumed it was
one man or two men assigned at the direction of the
President. ... It never bothered me. I never got upset
about it. Oh, I guess (I) should have, but knowing John-
son as I did. I never got upset about it.

“I would naturally be concerned to learn what they did
find out,” Goldwater added, “not that I did anything
wrong.”

Goldwater not only believed that LBJ had mounted
espionage against him, but he feared that someone within
his staff might be playing a double game. The possibility
of a double agent in his headquarters was raised by an ex-
traordinary episode: Goldwater had planned a speech an-
nouncing the formation of a blue-chip GOP foreign policy
advisory committee. Carefully guarded texts were given
reporters on the candidate’s plane — in the air. When they
landed, Goldwater discovered that LBJ had stolen his
thunder by announcing his own such committee. And that
was just too coincidental.

“Too many funny things were going on,” recalls Victor
Gold, assistant campaign press secretary.

Talk about dirty tricks. Those used against the Arizonan
were enough to make the 1972 campaign look like a Sun-
day school picnic. Yet, at the time, few in the media ap-
peared to give a damn. If anything the press and television
threw its resources into an all-out effort to depict Goldwater
as some sort of warmongering Fascist thug only interested
in hurling the world into another war.

A choice example of media defamation of Goldwater
was provided by correspondent Daniel Schorr, who re-
ported to CBS from Germany that a post-convention trip
to that country, planned by Goldwater, signaled a link be-

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VICTOR LASKY

tween the “right-wing of the United States and that of
Bavaria.” The smear was plain: Goldwater was somehow
involved with neo-Nazis.

“This is the damnedest lie I ever heard,” Goldwater said
publicly.

In a private conversation with me at the time, the
senator said the allegation “made me sick to my stomach.
It was a phony story by Schorr. My Jewish forebears were
probably turning over in their graves.”

A few days later Schorr broadcast this “clarifying state-
ment”:

“In speaking the other day of a move by Senator Gold-
water to link up with these forces, I did not mean to sug-
gest a conscious effort on his part of which there is no
proof here , but rather a process of gravitation which is
visible here.”

Meanwhile the phony story was picked up around the
country. The “clarifying statement” never clarified any-
thing. Eventually Schorr returned to Washington, where a
decade later he became the CBS expert on the evils of
Watergate.

Not to be outdone, The New York Times published
its own smear. A dispatch out of Germany reported that
Goldwater “has been corresponding with the Sudeten-Ger-
man leader, Hans Christoph Seebohm. . . . Competent in-
formants said today that Mr. Goldwater and Mr. Seebohm,
who is Transport Minister in Chancellor Ludwig Erhard’s
Cabinet, had been in ‘frequent and friendly’ correspon-
dence for some time. . . . Mr. Seebohm was chastized by
Chancellor Erhard last month after ... he asserted that
the Munich Agreement of 1938 remained a legally binding
compact.”

Several days later the newspaper that prints only the
“news that’s fit to print” was forced to report that See-
bohm had denied that “he had been in friendly corre-
spondence with Senator Goldwater.” A Seebohm spokesman
made it perfectly clear that the cabinet member had “never
seen, never spoken to, and never exchanged letters with
Senator Goldwater.” The Times , caught with a phony story,
offered this feble explanation: “. . . the report was based on
information from competent sources known to be informed
of Dr. Seebohm’s interest in the conservative movement
in the United States.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 191

Apparently it never occurred to the good, gray Times
that the most competent source of information about Gold-
water’s activities was Goldwater himself.

Murray Kempton had predicted that the 1964 contest
promised to be the “vilest” campaign in recent history. He
could not have been more accurate. In fact the tactics used
by Goldwater’s opponents to defeat him were loathsome.
He was vilified as a Nazi almost without letup. His sanity
was questioned. And Big Media, with few exceptions, co-
operated in the Democratic effort to portray the Arizonan
as a “trigger-happy” warmonger easily capable of igniting
Armegeddon.

Early in the campaign newspaper publisher John S.
Knight had this to say: “Barry Goldwater is not my
candidate, and I have done nothing to promote his Presi-
dential aspirations. But I do think the Senator is getting
shabby treatment from most of the news media.” After
reading many of the columnists, Knight could find “only a
few who are not savagely cutting down Goldwater day
after day.” As for editorial cartoonists, they portrayed the
senator “as belonging to the Neanderthal Age, or as a relic
of the 19th Century.” The publisher concluded: “Some
editors are disturbed because Goldwater is teeing off on
the newspapers and other news media for failing to present
the news of his candidacy fairly and objectively. I can’t
say that I blame him. He hasn’t had a fair shake.”

Ten years later Barry Goldwater was “back in style,”
as James Naughton phrased it in The New York Times .
The reason, Naughton wrote, is that “the blunt candor that
devastated the Arizona Senator’s campaign for the White
House in 1964 appears to many to have become something
of a national treasure in 1974.”

FOURTEEN

In October 1973 Bill Moyers, former top aide to President
Johnson, devoted an hour-long telecast to the evils of
Watergate over the Public Broadcasting Service. And he
reminisced about the four and a half years he spent in the
White House:

“I . . . can testify as to how tempting it is to put the
President’s interests above all others. You begin to confuse
the office with the man. And the man with the country.

“Life inside those iron gates takes on an existential qual-
ity. I think with the President’s mind. Therefore I am. To
some extent this happens in every administration. But the
men in and around the White House were measured by
their zeal. Pity any grandmother who got in the way.”

That was of course a reference to Charles Colson, who
was supposed to have said that he would even walk over
his grandmother’s grave in order to ensure Nixon’s re-
election.*

Needless to say, Moyers and his assorted guests, ranging
from the liberal Henry Steele Commager to the conserva-
tive George Will, all disapproved of excessive loyalty to a
President — any President. Moyers, who had been LBJ’s
press secretary, speechwriter, and confidant, made the cus-
tomary attack on “efforts to use the FBI, CIA, IRS and
Secret Service for political purposes.”

It was quite a program, one which won for Moyers the
highly coveted Emmy Award.

But it should also have won for Moyers a prize for
pompous and hypocritical moralizing.

For we now know that this paragon of righteousness was
on the receiving end of political information garnered by

♦Colson himself denies having said this.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 193

the FBI at the Democratic Convention in Atlantic City.
Another recipient was White House Chief of Staff Walter
Jenkins. And after the convention was over, Moyers sent
a note to “Deke” DeLoach thanking him and his fellow
FBI agents for their “fine” work. In return DeLoach wrote
Moyers as follows:

Thank you for your very thoughtful and generous
note concerning our operation in Atlantic City. Please
be assured that it was a pleasure and privilege to be
able to be of assistance to the President, and all the
boys that were with me felt honored in being selected
for the assignment.

I think everything worked out well, and I’m certain-
ly glad that we were able to come through with vital
tidbits from time to time which were of assistance to
you and Walter. You know you have only to call on
us when a similar situation arises. . . .

Another piece of skulduggery in which Moyers was in-
volved occurred two weeks before Election Day. As special
assistant to the President he ordered the FBI to run a
name check on numerous members of Goldwater’s cam-
paign and Senate staffs in an effort to obtain derogatory in-
formation about their possible sexual aberrations.

What the President was looking for, Moyers told the FBI,
was information about “fags” and other perverts on the
Arizonan’s staff. Moyers’s request came shortly after Jen-
kins himself had been arrested on a morals charge involving
homosexuality. Embarrassed over what had happened to
one of his oldest friends, the President insisted that the
arrest had resulted from a Republican frame-up. And LBJ
wanted to get even. Hence the Moyers request.

The ugly story came out as a result of the February
1975 appearance by Attorney General Edward H. Levi be-
fore the House Subcommittee on Constitutional Rights.
The subject was the secret file J. Edgar Hoover had
amassed over the years, consisting of derogatory informa-
tion on presidents, members of Congress, federal officials,
and others.

After the hearing Deputy Attorney General Laurence H.
Silberman disclosed that the misuse of the Bureau’s files

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VICTOR LASKY

and manpower had been made by several presidents. And
among the examples he disclosed was Moyers’s extraor-
dinary request.

The FBI, which had no right to do so, did conduct in-
quiries into the bedroom proclivities of the Goldwater
staffers; but, as the Bureau informed Moyers, it could
come up with no derogatory information. That did not
stop the President from calling in selected correspondents
to the White House and making insinuations about what
he knew of leading Republicans and their families, hinting
that he would use the material “if they keep after my
people.”

More recently when asked about the revelations concern-
ing his role in all of this unappetizing skulduggery, Moy-
ers’s first reaction was that he had “no recollection” of any
of it. Yet within hours he was busy at the typewriter knock-
ing out a column for Newsweek telling his side of the
story.

In that column Moyers — a former Baptist preacher —
came up with a sanitized version of what had occurred at
the White House following the Jenkins affair. Johnson had
stormed into his office, Moyers claimed, to say that Hoover
had informed him that “Goldwater’s people” may have
“trapped” Walter Jenkins. Whereupon the President had
ordered him to make certain that the FBI “find those
bastards” — namely, the Republicans who he thought had
set up the homosexual rendezvous for Jenkins.

And what did Moyers do?

Considering the criticism aimed at Nixon’s staff as be-
ing too compliant and spineless — much of it leveled by
moralizers like Moyers — what is more pertinent is what he
did not do. Johnson’s top aide did not arise righteously
(and properly) to counsel the President against using a
law enforcement agency for personal political ends.

Instead Moyers leaped to the phone, called “Deke” De-
Loach, and gave him the President’s instructions. Just as
his boss had ordered.

So much for what was supposed to be the “unique”
paranoia that afflicted the Nixon White House — and for
the notion that pre-Nixon presidential aides were pure as
Sunday school teachers in their ability to distinguish right
from wrong, and to act on their better instincts.

The DeLoach investigation proved as politically brainless

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 195

as the break-in at Ellsberg’s psychiatrist — and as illegal.
Walter Jenkins had not been “set up” by “Goldwater’s
people,” as Moyers’s boss had hoped to find.

Nevertheless the use of the FBI to conduct such in-
quiries about political opponents is just as shocking as
anything that took place under Nixon. The difference, how-
ever, is that those responsible for the Watergate abuses
have all suffered at least public opprobrium. But Moyers
and other of his former colleagues are doing better than
ever. Moyers, in fact, is now moralizing over the CBS
Television network.

Like Colson with Nixon, Moyers labored without stint
for LBJ. “That boy has a bleeding ulcer,” Johnson once
proudly observed. “He works for me like a dog and is just
as faithful. He never asks for anything — but for more
work. He won’t go home with that bleeding ulcer until
nine or ten o’clock. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
And Moyers said the right things about a President “whose
full scope of thought, fervor and personality can never be
known to one man alive.”

When it came to “ass-kissing,” as one former LBJ aide
told me, Moyers had few peers at the White House. “And
there were a hell of a lot of ass-kissers around in those
days. LBJ almost demanded it.”

The most precious thing in Moyers’s life was his relation-
ship with the President; anyone who threatened that re-
lationship could find the young Texan to be nasty indeed.
He was constantly looking over his shoulder to see if any-
one was gaining on him.

According to Eric Goldman, the in-house intellectual
who eventually broke with LBJ, there were those in the
White House who called Moyers “Elmer Gantry.” Gold-
man thought the characterization “unfair, but it did sug-
gest the air of completely satisfying rationalization with
which he sometimes used stiletto tactics. As one staff man
who found himself the victim of a Moyers thrust remarked,
‘Whatever he does, he does with every assurance that he is
carrying out the will of John the Baptist.’ ”

During the 1964 campaign itself Moyers achieved a
merited reputation as the “hit man” of the Pedernales gang.
Prior to Watergate he frequently boasted of the “dirty
tricks” he employed against the Goldwater candidacy. For
the former preacher shared his boss’s determination not

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VICTOR LASKY

simply to beat Goldwater but to roll up the tremendous
margin which would give LBJ his “mandate.” And one
reason LBJ wanted a roaring landslide was to make JFK’s
118,000-vote victory of 1960 look, as Eric Goldman put
it, “like a pathetic peep.” For LBJ had had his bellyful
of the so-called Kennedy legend.

These days Moyers doesn’t do much boasting about the
series of chilling TV commercials which portrayed Gold-
water as an H-bomb fanatic. Remember the little girl pluck-
ing flower petals and then the world blowing up? Well,
those contributions to hysteria were devised by Moyers in
collaboration with the advertising agency Doyle Dane
Bernbach.

The commercials, which were reviewed by Fortas and
Clifford on behalf of the President, included another show-
ing a little girl licking an ice cream cone. A woman’s voice
told the child how people used to explode atomic weapons
in the air, and how the radioactive fallout made children
die. She then explained how a man who wanted to be
President had voted against a treaty to prevent all but un-
derground nuclear tests. “His name is Barry Goldwater, so
if he’s elected, they might start testing all over again.”
The last words were almost drowned out by a crescendo
of Geiger-counter clicks. Then came the male announcer’s
tagline: “Vote for President Johinson on November Third.
The stakes are too high for you to stay home.”

Even Johnson supporters were revolted. As a result of
various protests the Democrats stopped showing the com-
mercials. But years later, in talking with Nick Thimmesch,
Moyers proudly claimed to have “hung the nuclear noose
around Goldwater and finished him off.”

By this time Moyers had left the White House to be-
come publisher of Long Island’s Newsday . Then he began
pontificating on public television and writing a column for
Newsweek. It was through these channels that the former
“hit man” of the Pedernales let it be known how appalled
he was by the “dirty tricks” of the Watergate era.

Another feature of the 1964 campaign was the “Five
O’clock Club” meetings at the White House, attended by
bright young Democratic lawyers and junior officials. The
purpose was to “discuss deviltry” and other tricks (as
Theodore White put it) to be inflicted on Goldwater during
the campaign. Known to insiders as the Anti-Campaign, it

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 197

was conceived and watched over by Lyndon Johnson him-
self. As Evans and Novak later wrote, it was LBJ’s “unique
contribution to presidential campaigning,” conducted with
the absolute scerecy befitting a leader to whom “leaks” were
anathema. As a result no word of the Anti-Campaign ever
got out at the time.

What it was, pure and simple, was a clandestine “black
propaganda” operation. Working out of quarters almost
directly above the Oval Office itself, the Anti-Campaign
had no chairman, kept no minutes, issued no statements,
revealed no strategy. Its security-conscious members were
well versed in propaganda. Their objective was to keep
hitting at Goldwater by any means, fair or foul, in order
to keep his campaign off balance.

They were successful. Often there were times when
Goldwater did not know what hit him. And Johnson en-
joyed every moment of it. As Evans and Novak reported:
. . [White House Counsel Myer] Feldman was the bridge
between Johnson and the propagandists and often rushed
downstairs to the Oval Office to get the President’s reaction
before approving a specific, plan.”

No stone was left unturned to win for LBJ the greatest
landslide in history. A certain winner when he began, early
polls had given Johnson 80 percent of the vote. There
was absolutely no way he could lose. Yet he unloosed a
campaign of defamation against his opponent with few
parallels in modern history. And the liberals loved it.

For example, speaking before the Steelworkers, LBJ re-
ferred to Goldwater as “a raving, ranting demagogue.”

On another occasion he described himself as a man of
peace and pictured his opponent as a man of war. At the
same time LBJ promised, “We are not going to send
American boys nine or ten thousand miles away from home
to do what Asian boys ought to be doing for themselves.”
In still another of his nondemagogic speeches, LBJ bel-
lowed: “Just because we’re powerful, we can’t mash a
button and tell an independent country to go to hell, be-
cause they don’t want to go to hell, and we don’t get very
far rattling our rockets or lobbing them into men’s rooms.

. . . The only real issue in this campaign, the only one that
you ought to get concerned about, is who can best keep
the peace.”

His non-raving runningmate was more explicit. Ac-

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VICTOR LASKY

cording to Hubert Humphrey, the election of Goldwater
would make the United States “a garrison state in a night-
mare world, isolated from everything except a nuclear
reign of terror.” Goldwater was “dead wrong — tragically,
dangerously wrong. The solutions he offers are no solutions
at all. They are instead a sure path to widening conflict
and ultimately to a nuclear holocaust.”

There were other voices of reason and moderation (as
they billed themselves), some of whom follow.

Martin Luther King: “We see dangerous signs of Hit-
lerism in the Goldwater campaign. If Goldwater wins, I
am absolutely convinced we will see the dark night of
social disruption and such intensification of discontent and
despair by Negroes that there is certain to be an outbreak
of violence.”

Postmaster General John Gronouski: “We know what
Goldwater is talking about. Extremism is hate and divisive-
ness. It is spitting on the Ambassador to the United Na-
tions. It is labeling the Chief Justice of the United States
Supreme Court a traitor and a Communist. ... It is jus-
tification for turning dogs loose on demonstrations, or
bombing churches, or pouring acid in swimming pools.”
Senator Fulbright: “Goldwater Republicanism is the
closest thing in American politics to an equivalent of Rus-
sian Stalinism.”

George Meany: “(There is) a parallel between Senator
Barry Goldwater and Adolf Hitler.”

California Governor “Pat” Brown: “Goldwater’s ac-
ceptance speech had the stench of fascism. . . . All we
needed to hear was ‘Heil Hitler.’ ”

Democratic National Chairman John Bailey: “(Gold-
water’s platform) looks like a John Birch magazine . . . the
platform writers have drawn up an exercise in fantasy, fear,
and hate.”

Columnist James Reston: “Goldwater must know that
most of the extremist tyrants of history, from Caesar and
Napoleon to Hitler and Stalin, acted in the name of liberty
and justice.”

Literary critic Maxwell Geismar: “(Goldwater) is a
Doctor Strangelove incarnate; he is possessed, paranoidal,
utterly evil, and close to suicidal. ... I believe he is close
to being an out-and-out monster.”

Rarely in the history of American politics has so much

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 199

vulgar rhetoric been loosed against such a good man. No
wonder Goldwater said after the election, with his typical
good humor, that when he had read all the White House-
inspired attacks against him he nearly decided to vote for
Johnson. After all, who would want, to vote for a man who
intended to widen the war in Southeast Asia, for example?

But within a year a bitter joke was circulating. A girl
was supposed to have said, “I was told that if I voted for
Goldwater we would be at war in six months. I did — and
we were.”

As it turned out, the man who did widen the war was
none other than Johnson. Even while he was blasting Gold-
water as a warmonger, LBJ had made up his mind to es-
calate the conflict by bombing North Vietnam — a fact he
later confided to Charles W. Roberts of Newsweek. As he
did not want to take the Congress into his confidence, he
ordered his national security adviser, McGeorge Bundy, to
draw up a resolution which would give him a free hand
in Vietnam. The idea was to send it to Congress for ap-
proval at the proper time. Bundy later confirmed there was
such a draft, explaining, “We had always anticipated . . .
the possibility that things might take a more drastic turn
at any time.”

The right moment came after the U.S. destroyer Maddox
was attacked by North Vietnamese torpedo boats in the
Gulf of Tonkin. A second announcement followed quickly:
North Vietnamese gunboats had struck again. And on the
night of August 4, 1964, Johnson went on television to
explain that he had ordered a retaliatory strike against the
torpedo boats and their bases in North Vietnam.

Johnson then went to the Congress for a special resolu-
tion authorizing him to “take all necessary measures to re-
pel any armed attack against the forces of the United States
and to prevent further aggression.” This meant that he
could use the armed forces just about as he wished in Viet-
nam. The Congress gave him this blank check by an over-
whelming vote.

But had the President deliberately misled the Congress
and the American people on the Tonkin episode? Senator
Fulbright, who had been LBJ’s floor leader on the resolu-
tion, thought so after hearing testimony some years later. “I
thought Johnson’s story was on the level,” said Fulbright.
“But the story of the attack didn’t hold up. It was an

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VICTOR LASKY

arranged incident to get a resolution creating unity behind
any action he wanted to take.”

In other words LBJ had lied to the American people.

But by rushing the Tonkin Resolution through the Con-
gress, Johnson had also managed to box in Goldwater on
Vietnam. Republicans on the attack found it difficult to ac-
cuse the President of being “soft on Communism.” In fact,
by raiding North Vietnam, LBJ looked like a tough hombre
indeed.

Everything was coming up roses, Texas-style, for LBJ
as the campaign entered its final weeks. Yet still the Dem-
ocratic candidate was getting awfully annoyed at the hecklers
who were crossing his campaign path. His top aide Marvin
Watson, who was overseeing the advance work, reported
that LBJ was very angry at the demonstrators.

“The President does not want them,” Watson notified
advance man Jerry Bruno. “See if you can eliminate them.”

At the very next stop there was a man with an enormous
“Goldwater for President” sign that LBJ could not miss.
Watson was fit to be tied.

“I thought I told you we don’t want any more signs and
hecklers,” Watson told Bruno. “Now get that down.”

“It’s impossible,” replied Bruno. “We sent some people
over there, but you can’t tear down signs. It’ll just look
really bad.”

Bruno thuoght that was the end of it. But as he was
getting ready to leave, Watson called with a great idea.

“What about itching powder?” he asked.

“Itching powder?”

“Sure,” said Watson. “Our advance men should carry a
can with them. If they saw a heckler shouting or carrying
a Goldwater sign, the advance men could throw some
powder on the heckler, who’d have to stop what he was
doing.”

Bruno wrote that he rejected the idea, although he
heard that in Houston “somebody did use it on some un-
friendly people.”

Obviously the “fear of dissent,” to use a favorite phrase
of The New York Times, was not confined to the Nixon
era.

Nor were the practical jokes which later landed Donald
Segretti and Dwight Chapin in thfe slammer. The Demo-
cratic trickster in 1964 was a Californian named Dick

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 201

Tuck, who appeared to be spending his life devising
schemes to make life miserable for Republicans. And the
media loved every minute of it.

There \vas, for example, the Tuck-inspired caper ap-
proved by the Democratic National Committee itself,
which involved infiltrating a good-looking brunette aboard
the Goldwater campaign train. Her cover was that of a
free-lance magazine writer. Her assignment was to slip
copies of an anti-Goldwater flyer called The Whistlestop
under the compartment doors of traveling correspondents.

The girl was twenty-three-year-old Moira O’Connor of
Chicago. Shortly after the train left Washington bound for
Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, she got to work. Copies of
Whistlestop were circulated surreptitiously. It promised to
keep everyone informed “and, with considerable assistance
from the Senator himself, amused.” After listing four Re-
publican newspapers in Ohio that had endorsed LBJ, the
newsletter casually reassured the correspondents that flu-
oride (supposedly the bete noire of rightists) had not been
added to the train’s water supply.

Vic Gold, an assistant Goldwater press secretary, got up
before dawn in search of the culprit. Instead he found
copies of the second edition already slipped under nearly
every compartment door.

“What followed,” a dispatch by Charles Mohr to The
New York Times reported the next day, “had the elements
of an episode of an Ian Fleming or Eric Ambler thriller on
the Orient Express rushing through the Balkan night.

“There were soft footfalls in the darkened corridors as
the gently rocking Goldwater Express went rushing through
the West Virginia night. There was a swift and ruthless
search of baggage. And then came the pre-dawn discovery
and confrontation of Miss O’Connor by . . . Vic Gold.

“She was caught silently slipping under compartment
doors a new edition of Whistlestop contrasting the crowds
Richard M. Nixon drew in Ohio in 1960 with what was
expected for Mr. Goldwater today.

“Mr. Gold’s words to the pretty Democratic spy were:
‘I think you have made your last delivery, my dear.’ ”

Off she went at Parkersburg, West Virginia — “the spy
who was thrown out into the cold,” as Mohr reported —
but not before admitting she had been assigned to the “mis-
sion” by Dick Tuck, who was employed as a “researcher”

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VICTOR LASKY

by the Democratic National Committee. Tuck happily
showed up to claim authorship of the caper. And the press
couldn’t have had a better time reporting every humorous
detail.*

For most of his career as a professional “prankster” Tuck
concentrated his peculiar talents in efforts to annoy, if not
harass, Nixon. And, as he tells it, he was quite successful
in his chosen profession.

For a long time, Tuck reaped enormous media coverage
with the story of how, when Nixon was in the middle of a
whistlestop speech on his 1962 gubernatorial campaign
train, it suddenly began pulling out of the station. A switch-
man had flashed a signal and the train rolled away.

The “switchman,” wearing a railman’s cap, was none
other than Tuck or so the story went.

But what most of those who have written about the
episode failed to note was the fact that the prank could
easily have resulted in serious injuries to people standing
close to the train. Imagine if Segretti had pulled that kind
of stunt. He probably would have been imprisoned for
life.

But anything went (and still does) when it comes to dis-
comfiting Nixon. As David Halberstam has stated, Tuck’s
forte over the years was “the haunting of Richard Nixon.”
And the press loved it. It was only when Segretti began
practicing pranks on the Democrats that the media dis-
covered that “sabotage” was involved. The truth is that
Segretti was a bumbling amateur compared to Tuck.

At another Nixon rally in 1962, Tuck claimed credit for
switching identification signs on the motorcade buses. One,
labeled “Nixon,” was ready to rush the candidate to a
live television appearance. The other, labeled “VIP’s,” was
standing by to take celebrities to the airport. The result,
according to Tuck, was that Nixon found himself at the air-
port while his guests arrived at the television studio.

♦The same press failed to see anything funny about the infiltration
of another comely creature aboard McGovern’s press plane in 1972.
Her assignment was to keep the Republicans informed on what the
Democratic candidate was saying out in the boondocks, but she did
not interfere or play any “dirty tricks” on the Democrats. Yet dis-
closure of her activities led to cries of horror on the part of the
same people who were so amused by Tuck’s “spy” of eight years
before.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 203

In a loving article in The Village Voice, Paul Hoffman
chronicled several of Tuck’s exploits. He noted, “On one
of Nixon’s California campaign swings, Tuck rode in the
press bus, a tape recorder marked ‘KRGT’ slung over his
shoulder — and blithely went his way obtaining advance
texts of Nixon’s speeches for Governor Brown — until
someone on Nixon’s staff checked and discovered there
was no such station.”

Significantly, few of those opposed to “dirty politics”
looked askance at Tuck’s shenanigans. In fact, Bruce
Felknor, then executive director of the Fair Campaign
Practices Committee, termed the shenanigans “magnificent
nonsense.” One wonders how Felknor later would have
characterized Segretti’s activities.

But even more significant, not once did Nixon or his
aides ever complain publicly about Tuck. Annoyed as
they were, they took the attitude that all’s fair in love
and politics.

Tuck next showed up at the 1964 Republican Conven-
tion in San Francisco. According to Newsweek, he wan-
dered around creating havoc by spreading phony stories
about rival candidates and setting one against another —
which, the magazine noted, was “a tactic not too far re-
moved from some of Segretti’s machinations.”

Once Goldwater became his party’s nominee, he replaced
Nixon as Tuck’s chief victim. And one of Tuck’s greatest
fans was the man in the White House — Lyndon Johnson,
who chortled eevry time he heard of the prankster’s capers.

LBJ also chortled at what appeared to be an effort
mounted by the Republican National Committee to in-
filtrate Democratic headquarters with a paid agent. The
effort backfired, much to the chagrin of GOP officials.

The prospective spy was Louis Flax, a teletype operator
for Reuters, in its Washington bureau. To make a few
extra dollars. Flax was moonlighting at Democratic head-
quarters. His job was to teletype each day’s secret schedules
and other confidential campaign plans to the Democrats’
network around the country.

Late one night Flax received a mysterious call. The
caller made a proposition. “All you would have to do,” he
whispered, “is get some friends of mine certain informa-
tion and keep them up to date on any prospective cam-
paign plans that you might come in contact with.”

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VICTOR LASKY

“I’m not interested in anything like that,” said Flax.

The caller then delicately referred to “certain things” in
Flax’s background unknown to his Democratic employers.
Quite obviously he was referring to a sixteen-month term
Flax had spent in the Maryland House of Correction on a
bad check charge.

“Wouldn’t you consider this something in the order of
blackmail?” the teletypist asked.

“Well,” huffed the voice, “let’s not use nasty words.”

Flax was told to call a certain telephone number, ask
for the chief of security, and identify himself as “Mr.
Lewis.” The telephone number was that of the Republican
National Committee and an appointment was made for
“Mr. Lewis” to come in.

Flax showed up at the appointed time and met with John
Grenier, a top GOP official. A deal was worked out where-
by Flax would obtain and deliver materials from Dem-
ocratic headquarters.

After meeting with Grenier, Flax notified his superiors
as to what had occurred. His boss was none other than
Wayne Phillips, himself no stranger to political skuldug-
gery. Phillips was absolutely delighted with the story and
suggested that Flax play along with the Republicans.

Two days later double agent Flax-Lewis delivered his
first shipment — a sheaf of Western Union carbons of secret
messages screened by Phillips. Flax-Lewis was paid $1,000
in bills. The teletypist continued his double life for two
weeks.

Flax’s story was then given to the press. It gave Dem-
ocratic Chairman Bailey an opportunity to crow over Re-
publican skulduggery in the midst of a Goldwater cam-
paign stressing morality in government.

When Grenier was asked by newsmen about the elab-
orate plot, he denied he knew anyone named Flax.
Goldwater, however, thought the episode was the funniest
thing he had heard all day. Besides, he confided, he would
never have resorted to bribery since he was sure he’d be
able to find a Democratic spy who’d work for nothing.

There was a period during the campaign, however, when
things appeared not to be going too well for LBJ’s all-out
effort to amass the greatest vote in history. The Very Rev-
erend Francis B. Sayre, Jr. — Woodrow Wilson’s grandson
and the prestigious dean of the Episcopal Washington

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 205

Cathedral — unloosed a blast at the Democratic candidate.
In fact LBJ and the White House were rocked when Sayre
characterized Johnson as “a man whose public house is
splendid in its every appearance, but whose private lack of
ethic must inevitably introduce termites at the very foun-
dation.”

Not that the Very Reverend was endorsing Goldwater.
Far from it. He characterized the Republican nominee as
“a man of dangerous ignorance.” But Sayre, who had suf-
fered through ninety minutes of a bitter name-calling at-
tack directed at him when LBJ was Vice President and both
were serving on the President’s Committee on Equal Em-
ployment Opportunity, concentrated his fire on LBJ. The
Washington Star commented that Sayre’s “harsh pro-
nouncement, we suspect, sums up the real mood of a
great part of the electorate.”

When Sayre unloosed this blast at his candidacy, LBJ
did an uncharacteristic thing. On advice of his associates
he bit his tongue and maintained silence. And though there
was no official statement, the White House did let it be
known that Sayre was an ardent Kennedyite, which, of
course, explained everything.

But LBJ suffered an even more telling blow with the
sleazy episode involving Walter Jenkins. One of Johnson’s
closest and most trusted aides, Jenkins had devoted his life
to LBJ and had been by his side from the moment he
entered the White House.

Ironically it was Jenkins who had sent out a memoran-
dum to all heads of federal departments asking them to be
super-careful about not getting caught with any security
problems.

As LBJ’s chief of staff, Jenkins wrote: “We have been
somewhat concerned about our procedures in requesting
security name checks ... for appointees to the federal ser-
vice. It would be unfortunate if undesirable individuals
were put on the Federal payroll simply because sufficient
precautions were not taken prior to their appointment.”

Jenkins outlined new procedures designed to “prevent
considerable embarrassment both to the Government and
to the potential employee himself.” It was obvious that,
with the presidential campaign in full swing, the last thing
the administration needed was “embarrassing” appoint-
ments.

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VICTOR LASKY

Of course the man who sent out this warning was himself
soon to become LBJ’s greatest embarrassment. Just a month
before Election Day, Jenkins was arrested in a pay toilet
of the men’s room of the YMCA, two blocks from the
White House. It was not the first time Jenkins had been
caught. The police had apprehended him in the same wash-
room in January 1959 in a similar homosexual episode.
But at that time Jenkins chose to forfeit collateral and
thus avoid a trial.

Somehow he managed to avoid publicity in the 1959
episode. The big question was whether LBJ had known of
his close friend’s aberration. Most certainly J. Edgar
Hoover knew. Under normal circumstances the director
would most certainly have informed LBJ.

Jenkins also tried to keep the news of his newest run-in
with the law quiet. But within a week rumors had reached
the three Washington dailies. Only one, the Star , sent a re-
porter out to check the arrest book at police headquarters.
There he found that a “Jenkins, Walter Wilson (of) 3704
Huntington St., N.W.” had been arrested on October 7,
1964, and charged with “disorderly conduct (pervert).”

The reporter then checked with Liz Carpenter, Mrs.
Johnson’s press secretary, who immediately scoffed at the
story. She said she would get back to the reporter. When
she did, she said that Jenkins would be in touch with him.
But Jenkins never called. Instead he phoned Abe Fortas
to say he was in serious trouble.

After listening to the story, Fortas tried to contact the
President, who was campaigning in New York. When he
was unable to do so, the lawyer acted on his own. He ad-
vised Jenkins to check into a hospital in order to be out of
reach of reporters. At the same time, accompanied by
Clark Clifford, Fortas went to the offices of the Star to
plead for compassion. He said the unfortunate episode was
an isolated incident brought on by hard work and the
few drinks he had had at a cocktail party that evening.
“Think of Jenkins’s wife and six children,” he pleaded.
Fortas appeared startled when the editors brought up the
1959 episode. Nevertheless they agreed to withhold the
story on learning that Jenkins would soon be asked to re-
sign his post.

Fortas and Clifford then raced over to the offices of the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 207

Post and Daily News. After listening to the lawyers, the
editors also agreed not to publish the story. As a student of
Fortas’s career has observed, “The mere fact of his
presence at the [newspapers’] offices, along with another
of the President’s close advisers, amounted to pressure
which any editor would have found difficult to resist.”

But the rumors could not be contained. Without nam-
ing Jenkins, GOP National Chairman Dean Burch issued
a one-sentence statement which caused a nationwide sen-
sation: “The White House is desperately trying to suppress
a major news story affecting the national security.”

Later that day United Press International broke the
story over its wires.

Meanwhile, according to Republican Senator Carl Cur-
tis, “the book at the police station containing the Jenkins’
arrest record disappeared. But . . . some of the men with
whom I was working took a photograph of that particular
police blotter before the book disappeared.”

By this time Fortas had gotten through to LBJ. The
news hit the President like a bombshell. As the guest of
honor at the A1 Smith dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria LBJ
was obviously not himself. He seemed dazed, according to
observers, and cut his speech in half, reading the remainder
in a distracted monotone.

Fortas had advised the President to announce that he had
asked for and received Jenkins’s resignation. The an-
nouncement was made by Press Secretary George Reedy
at an impromptu press conference at the Waldorf.

Fortas had also suggested that LBJ announce he had
asked Edgar Hoover to make “an immediate and compre-
hensive inquiry on the case and report promptly to me and
the American people.” This too was done. But the credibil-
ity of the “inquiry” was immediately placed in jeopardy
when it was disclosed that the director had sent a bouquet
of flowers to Jenkins at the hospital with a warm personal
note, signed “J. Edgar Hoover and Associates.”

Nevertheless Jenkins’s vulnerability to blackmail did
raise the question in some people’s minds as to whether
he might ever have compromised national security. After
all, Jenkins had been privy to every important secret in the
White House. There was very- little in the way of classified
intelligence to which he did not have access. The Re-

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VICTOR LASKY

publicans, whose campaign had appeared to be flounder-
ing, seemed to have gotten a new lease on life. But
not for long.

The results of a crash public opinion poll came in the
next day. Oliver Quayle, who had taken the poll on LBJ’s
instructions, reported that the case would have little bear-
ing on the results of the election. Only then did LBJ issue
a statement of sympathy for Jenkins, who “has worked
with me faithfully for twenty-five years” with “dedication,
devotion and tireless labor.”

Meanwhile LBJ took such a personal interest in the FBI’s
investigation ordered by him that he actually told the
Bureau what its final report should contain. In substance the
President said the report should state that Jenkins was over-
ly tired, that he was a good family man and a hard worker,
and that he was not “biologically” a homosexual.

Within the week Hoover sent the results of the Bureau’s
“extensive investigation” over to Acting Attorney General
Nicholas Katzenbach. The FBI investigation, said the di-
rector, “disclosed no information that Mr. Jenkins has
compromised the security or interests of the United States
in any manner.” The report, which was issued two weeks
before the election, read like a commendation. It claimed
that “a favorable appraisal of Mr. Jenkins* loyalty and
dedication to the United States was given the FBI by more
than three hundred of his associates, both business and
social. . .

By this time the rush of events abroad completely over-
shadowed the Jenkins story. For one thing Khrushchev had
been deposed in Moscow. Then the Chinese Communists
exploded their first nuclear device. At the same time the
British elected a Labor government. At home, there was a
cliff-hanging World Series between the Yankees and the
Cardinals.

But LBJ, now more than ever assured of victory, found
it difficult to leave well enough alone. Not only was he harp-
ing on his conviction that the Republicans had “framed”
Jenkins, but — while campaigning in San Diego — he re-
marked that Eisenhower had suffered from “the same type
of problem” with one of his White House aides. It was a
foolish thing to say. If anything, Ike had not hired the
young man in the first place. Still, keeping the issue alive
was stupid because, by seeking to link Eisenhower with

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 209

sexual deviates, LBJ was risking political recriminations.

But by then nothing, not even crude mistakes, could
prevent an LBJ avalanche. The results were a foregone
conclusion.

Meanwhile Clark Clifford, generally known as one of the
town’s leading “fixers,” with clout in the right places, was
doing better than ever. Clifford was an expert in back-
channel dealing, the sort of thing which was to arouse such
horrified concern with the surfacing of what came to be
known as the ITT “scandal” during the Nixon years.

Clifford’s law firm had been hired in the early sixties by
the duPonts of Delaware, when they were ordered to get
rid of, their General Motors stock because of antitrust im-
plications. This meant that, unless Congress passed ex-
traordinary legislation of forgiveness, the family faced a
tax liability of more than $1 billion. According to Bill
Greider in the Washington Post, Clifford was hired “to
guide their argument through the inner branches of the
executive branch. . . . Clifford, who was advising President
Kennedy on foreign intelligence matters then, arranged
some appointments for the folks from Wilmington — pri-
vate audiences with the Treasury secretary, the Attorney
General, the Deputy Attorney General, the Assistant Attor-
ney General for Anti-Trust, and the General Counsel of the
Treasury.”

The arguments were apparently persuasive because the
Justice Department, which had previously opposed special
tax consideration for antitrust violators, let it be known
that in this case it would make an exception. Before long,
with administration approval, Congress passed a law slash-
ing the potential tax liability of the duPonts by approxi-
mately $650 million.

Two years later Clifford’s closeness to Johnson appar-
ently did him little harm when the duPont tax matter again
came up. The lawyer helped negotiate a favorable inter-
pretation of the 1962 settlement — one that saved the du-
Ponts (who probably considered it petty cash) at least $56
million in taxes.

Democratic party ties to Big Business were strengthened
under Johnson. The new President took the attitude that
people who benefited financially from his administration
ought to be able to demonstrate their gratitude. Thus, for
the 1964 convention at Atlantic City, the Democratic Na-

210

VICTOR LASKY

tional Committee prepared a ninety-six-page “program,”
selling space in it at $15,000 a page. Lo and behold, the
pages went like “hot cakes.” Everyone — but particularly
major defense contractors as well as trucking firms —
wanted to advertise their wares in the “program.” And
why not? It was a good deal. For the Democrats had con-
veniently obtained an IRS ruling that, far from being con-
sidered illegal corporate gifts, the space orders were to be
entered on the books as advertising costs which, of course,
meant they were tax deductible as legitimate business ex-
penses.

At the same time LBJ invented the President’s Club, a
device to provide special consideration to those captains of
industry who saw the light and contributed accordingly.
Among the contributors were August A. Busch and two
of his employees at his brewing corporation. In May 1966
they contributed a total of $10,000 to LBJ’s President’s
Club. A month later, in what was then regarded as a sur-
prise decision, the Justice Department announced it was
dropping an antitrust suit against the St. Louis company.
Shortly after the announcement Vice President Humphrey
and Donald Turner, head of Justice’s antitrust division, flew
out to St. Louis in Busch’s private plane to attend the
All-Star baseball game in Busch Stadium. The peculiar
confluence of events was noticed by two Republican con-
gressmen, Gerald R. Ford and Charles Goodell, who all
but called the deal corrupt. But they didn’t go that far.
What Ford said was this: “The linking of political con-
tributions and dismissal of anti-trust suits was too much of
a coincidence to be ignored.”

It was ignored. Aside from the Republican sniping, there
was little reaction elsewhere. There was no impassioned
outcry from the media, for example. That was only to
come six years later when the Nixon administration got
involved in the ITT case.

FIFTEEN

Among the fruits of the electronic surveillance of Dr. Mar-
tin Luther King launched under Attorney General Robert
F. Kennedy was a rich lode of tapes on the civil rights
leader’s private activities in bedrooms across the land.

What those activities had to do with national security —
the justification for Kennedy’s authorization of the King
wiretaps — is difficult to fathom. As the Justice Department
itself has lately admitted, the purpose of the surveillance
was “investigating the love life of a group leader for dis-
semination to the press.” The “group leader” was later
identified as Dr. King.

The electronic surveillance produced a massive number
of recordings. Professor Alan Dershowitz of Harvard Law
School, writing in The New Republic , estimated that 5,000
separate conversations went on tape, violating “the privacy
of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent King callers
and visitors.”

And what is amazing, in retrospect, is that not one of
the many persons whose constitutional rights were definite-
ly violated ever sued. Which is interesting in view of the
suits later filed by complainants who alleged violation of
their rights by the Nixon administration.

One of the secret recordings was of a party held by King
and officials of the Southern Christian Leadership Con-
ference, which he headed, at the Willard Hotel in the sum-
mer of 1963. This was at the time King was in Washington
to deliver his famous “I have a dream” speech before a
quarter of a million people in front of the Lincoln Me-
morial.

It was a mass rally for civil rights which neither Presi-
dent Kennedy nor his brother, the Attorney General, par-
ticularly wanted to take place. But they had no choice. Dr.
King had informed the President that the demonstration

212

VICTOR LASKY

would go on as planned with or without the administra-
tion’s approval.

A copy of the recording of the Willard festivities was
later sent secretly to Dr. King’s wife, Coretta, by William
C. Sullivan, then in charge of the FBI’s counter-intelligence
operations, on orders from Hoover.

Mrs. King has confirmed that she received the tape in
January 1965. “I received a tape that was rather curious,
unlabeled,” she said recently. “As a matter of fact, Martin
and I listened to the tape and we found much of it unin-
telligible. We concluded there was nothing in the tape to
discredit him.” They also concluded, she said, that the tape
had been made covertly by the FBI.

But they couldn’t prove it at the time. The fact remains
that mailing of the tape not only was a violation of Bureau
regulations but constituted a potential crime, in that it
violated an FCC regulation prohibiting any government
agency from disclosing contents of a taped or bugged
conversation to a third party.

Wherever Dr. King went, he was the object of electronic
surveillance. Room bugs were installed in hotels from
coast to coast as the Black leader moved around the coun-
try. According to Arthur Murtagh, a retired agent attached
to the FBI’s Atlanta office, the moves against Dr. King were
second in size “only to the way they went after Jimmy
Hoffa.”

Yet despite this massive surveillance there never was a
criminal prosecution of Dr. King for violation of any
federal or state law.

But a “monograph” on Dr. King’s personal life was cir-
culated among government officials during the Kennedy ad-
ministration, according to two former FBI officials. The
New York Times reported that when President Kennedy
became aware of what was going on, he ordered Hoover
to call back every copy. But the President did not order
an end to the surveillance itself.

Nor did Johnson when he assumed the presidency. In
fact LBJ eagerly received the tapes and transcripts of
King’s extracurricular activities. The new President not
only read the accounts, which an aide described as being
“like an erotic book,” but also listened to the tapes, which
included the noise of bedsprings. Later on when an aide de-
fended Dr. King’s antiwar activities, LBJ angrily retorted,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 213

“Goddammit, if only you could hear what that hypocritical
preacher does sexually.” (This from the same President
who sometimes denounced electronic surveillance as “the
worst thing in our society.”)

According to a staff report of the Senate Intelligence
Committee released in 1976, it was none other than Bill
Moyers, then an assistant to President Johnson, who “ex-
pressly approved” the circulation within the Executive
Branch of a secret FBI report on King. One section of the
monograph dealt with King’s personal life as ascertained
from bugs placed in various hotel suites. The purpose of
this and other such FBI reports was to destroy and discredit
the civil rights leader, according to the Senate study.

Under questioning, Moyers testified that he was general-
ly aware that the FBI reports contained material of a per-
sonal nature.

Had he ever asked why the FBI was transmitting this
kind of information to the White House?

Moyers said he didn’t remember. “I just assumed it was
related to a fallout of the investigations concerning the
Communist allegations, which is what the President was
concerned about.”

“Did you ever question the propriety of the FBI’s dis-
seminating that type of information?” Moyers was asked.

“I never questioned it, no,” Moyers replied. “I thought
it was spurious and irrelevant . .

“And you found nothing improper about the FBI’s
sending that information along also?”

“Unnecessary?” Moyers replied. “Improper at that
time? No.”

“Do you recall anyone in the White House ever ques-
tioning the impropriety of the FBI’s disseminating this type
of material?”

“I think . . . there were comments that tended to
ridicule the FBI’s doing this, but no.”

Moyers said he had not suspected the FBI was cover-
ing Dr. King’s activities with microphones, although he
conceded, “I subsequently realized I should have assumed
that. . . . The nature of the general references that were
being made I realized later could only have come from
that kind of knowledge unless there was an informer in
Martin Luther King’s presence a good bit of the time.”

In his Newsweek column of March 10, 1975, Moyers

214

VICTOR LASKY

claimed that Johnson’s interest in Dr. King began when
Attorney General Kennedy told him of the possibility that
the civil rights leader might be getting Communist funds.
Johnson became quite agitated. “There’s not a God-dam
thing you and I can do to help this civil rights thing,
Moyers quoted LBJ as telling Kennedy, “if we put our
arms around King and Jim Eastland [chairman of the
Senate Internal Security Subcommittee] suddenly calls a
press conference to announce that the good doctor-preach-
er is a Communist front. And don’t think Hoover wouldn t
tell him.”

According to Moyers, the FBI investigations never es-
tablished that King was a “Communist front.” Instead the
investigations turned up “some totally irrelevant informa-
tion,” which Hoover sent over to the White House. Though
Moyers did not say it, this apparently was information con-
cerning King’s private conduct.

According to Moyers, too, there were times when LBJ
“personally feared J. Edgar Hoover.” But the President
“learned to use Hoover even as Hoover was using him;
that he was given to fits of uncontrollable suspicion, once
lashing two of his aides for being as ‘naive as newborn
calves’ about the Kennedys, Communists and The New
York Times ; that he sometimes found gossip about other
men’s weaknesses a delicious hiatus from work. And that
from these grew some of our worst excesses. . . .”

But for more than a decade Moyers did nothing about
revealing those excesses, which he only recently indicated
led to “constitutional violations.” Like Nixon’s aides after
him, he covered up the transgressions in which he prom-
inently figured. But, unlike Nixon’s aides, he has done well
and is highly thought of in media circles today.

What is astonishing about all this is that media execu-
tives had known for years that Dr. King was the object of
illegal surveillance. They knew it when Dr. King was alive.
And they knew it because FBI officials had come to them
peddling gossip about King’s sex life which could only
have arisen from surreptitious recordings.

A case in point: In the spring of 1964, an FBI agent
called on Eugene Patterson, then editor of the Atlanta Con-
stitution. “You people have been giving support to Martin
Luther King,” the agent told Patterson. “Don’t you owe it
to your readers to tell them what kind of man he is? Our

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 215

information is that while he postures as a great moral
leader, he is running around with women. Don’t you think
your readers ought to know this?”

Patterson recalls telling the agent that “we didn’t run a
key-hole-peeking newspaper” and that “that kind of thing
had nothing to do with the civil rights movement.”
Nevertheless the agent suggested that the Constitution
send a reporter and a photographer to a Florida airport
that weekend in order to record a meeting between Dr.
King and a woman. The agent said the information had
come from an “informant,” obviously meaning a bug. Pat-
terson refused. As it turned out, the agent later told
Patterson, the rendezvous was called off, “so it’s a good
thing you didn’t send anybody down there.”

Patterson discussed the episode with his publisher, Ralph
McGill. According to Patterson, McGill who was outraged,
spoke of getting in touch with Attorney General Kennedy
to advise him of what the FBI was up to. But Patterson
never learned whether McGill did so. Patterson says that
he himself “personally told this story to John Doar, one of
Kennedy’s assistants, and was appalled when I got no reac-
tion from him, not even an indication he had heard what
I said (and we were speaking face to face). I realized then
that Hoover either was beyond Kennedy’s control, or else
Kennedy knew what Hoover was doing. McGill and I
traded disappointed exclamations over this.”

Of course Kennedy knew what Hoover was doing. And
John Doar, who said nothing about the violations of Dr.
King’s civil liberties, was to say a great deal ten years
later about other such violations as chief counsel of the
Nixon impeachment inquiry. Yet, on balance, nothing that
was done under Nixon could compare in grossness and in-
humanity to what was done to Dr. King under Kennedy
and Johnson. And in evaluating the abuses of power under
Nixon in the impeachment proceedings, not once did Doar
ever seek to place the evidence in the perspective of what
he knew at first hand were far greater evils committed by
the two presidents whom he so loyally served.

Patterson and McGill were not the only newsmen ap-
proached with information about King’s alleged philander-
ing. On November 25, 1964, according to the Senate In-
telligence Committee, the Washington bureau chief of a
“national news publication” told Nicholas B. Katzenbach,

216

VICTOR LASKY

then Attorney General, that one of his reporters had been
approached by the FBI and offered the opportunity to listen
to “interesting” tape recordings involving the civil rights
leader. So “shocked” was Katzenbach that he and Burke
Marshall, the retiring head of the Civil Rights Division,
flew to the LBJ Ranch.

“On that occasion,” Katzenbach testified, “he and I in-
formed the President of our conversation with the news
editor and expressed in very strong terms our view that this
was shocking conduct and politically extremely dangerous
to the Presidency. I told the President that it should be
stopped immediately and that he should personally contact
Mr. Hoover. I received the impression that President John-
son took the matter very seriously and that he would do as
I recommended.”

The only record of this episode in the FBI files is a
memorandum by DeLoach dated December 1, 1964, stating
in part:

Bill Moyers, while I was at the White House today,
advised that word had gotten to the President this after-
noon that (the newsman) was telling all over town
. . . that the FBI had told him that Martin Luther
King was (excised). (The newsman), according to
Moyers, had stated to several people that, “If the FBI
will do this to Martin Luther King, they will un-
doubtedly do it to anyone for personal reasons.”
Moyers stated the President wanted to get this word
to us so we would know not to trust (the newsman).
Moyers also stated that the President felt that (the
newsman) lacked integrity and was certainly no lover
of the Johnson Administration or the FBI. I told
Moyers this was certainly obvious.

Though the name of “the newsman” was excised from
the official record, he. soon identified himself. It was none
other than Ben Bradlee, who confirmed to a questioner
that when he was bureau chief of Newsweek in 1964 he
had informed Katzenbach of the offer made to one of his
reporters. While he obviously was outraged at the time,
what is significant is that Bradlee never published a word
about the sleazy episode.

Also significant was the role of Moyers, who was later

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 217

to win prizes for expounding on the evils of Watergate.
Always the sycophant, the former Baptist preacher had
passed on LBJ’s warning to beware of the untrustworthy
Bradlee who, as everyone in the Johnson administration
knew, was an “enemy” because of his close Kennedy as-
sociations. But when asked in executive session, Moyers
said he had no memory of any aspect of the episode. He
recalled nothing about the incident involving Bradlee or
about the discussion Katzenbach and Marshall had with
the President. Nor did he recall ever hearing anything
about the FBI offering to play the King recordings to re-
porters, or even ever having discussed the matter with
DeLoach.

But he conceded under questioning that the DeLoach
memo “sounds very plausible. I’m sure the President called
me or he told me to tell him whatever” the document re-
flected.

“Did the President tell you that he understood that
Bradlee was saying all over town that the Bureau had been
offering tapes?”

“I can’t remember the details of that. You know, I can’t
tell you the number of times the President was sounding
off at Bradlee.”

Also suffering a loss of memory was Katzenbach, Robert
Kennedy’s successor as Attorney General. When William
Safire suggested that he had condoned the wiretapping
and bugging of Dr. King, for which Hoover had been so
much maligned, Katzenbach angrily demanded an apology
from the columnist.

Great was Katzenbach’s surprise when he was con-
fronted with what appeared to be his initials on documents
authorizing the FBI to bug and wiretap Dr. King. He said
he had no recollection of ever receiving the several mem-
oranda containing the initials “N. deB. K.” and if he had,
he would most certainly have recalled them.

“Mr. Katzenbach,” he was asked by the minority coun-
sel of the Senate Intelligence Committee, “are you sug-
gesting that what appears to be your initials on these docu-
ments in fact represent forgeries?”

“Let me be just as clear about that as I can,” Katzen-
bach replied. “I have no recollection of receiving those
documents, and I seriously believe that I would have recol-
lected them had I received them. If they are my initials

218 VICTOR LASKY

and if I put them on, then I am clearly mistaken in that
recollection.”

He insisted that the idea of bugging King’s hotel room
would have been repugnant to him.

Yet he conceded he had handwritten a note to Hoover
on December 10, 1965, cautioning that “these are par-
ticularly delicate surveillances” and urging the importance
of not involving “non-FBI people” in their installations.

“This document was found in the Bureau’s King file,”
Katzenbach was told. “Do you remember what surveil-
lances you were making references to, what delicate sur-
veillances?”

“I don’t recall . .

“In your opinion, could this note have referred to the
three mentioned electronic surveillances against Dr. King?”
“On the face it says that it did. If I remember any recol-
lection whatsoever of the first three documents, then it
would seem to me to be a possibility. I point out that it
could refer to almost everything.”

Katzenbach’s amazing forgetfulness in the face of docu-
ments carrying his initials and handwriting aroused none
of the dismay which greeted the memory lapses of some
Watergate figures. The media said virtually nothing about
Katzenbach. More importantly the Special Prosecutor’s Of-
fice which had, for example, prosecuted Dwight Chapin
for not recalling what he had told Segretti, evinced no in-
terest in the Katzenbach case. Chapin, of course, had
gone to jail. Katzenbach went on to bigger and better
things, one being a directorship of the Washington Post
Company. There was a protest, however, at the 1976 cor-
porate meeting. Washington attorney William Moore, hold-
ing an “Accuracy in Media” proxy, challenged the nomina-
tion on the grounds that, as Attorney General, Katzenbach
had approved the FBI’s “snoop and smear” tactics against
Dr. King. Moore also noted that though at first Katzenbach
had denied knowledge of the taps, it developed later that
he had authorized them. Questioning whether Katzenbach
should be elected to the board of the Washington Post if
the charges were true, Moore invited the former Attorney
General to comment on them. Katzenbach declined to
do so. And Post publisher Kay Graham didn’t think it was
necessary either, since, she claimed, he had already done
so elsewhere. The Post , of course, had achieved a world-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 219

wide reputation for its concern about civil liberties and its
steadfast opposition to cover-ups.

What people did sexually was always of tremendous in-
terest to Lyndon Johnson. Consequently J. Edgar Hoover
kept feeding the President startling tidbits about the kinky
preferences of the high and mighty. LBJ exploded in laugh-
ter when, for example, he was told that a prominent Re-
publican senator had been visiting a high-class Chicago
whorehouse where his peculiar tastes were gratified. The
informant, LBJ was told, was none other than the madam
herself.

The Bureau had also planted bugs in two expensive
bordellos in the Washington area. A high-placed source
told Newsweek that there was a national security rationale
for this. “The Bureau hoped to obtain tapes of foreign
diplomats in compromising situations, to be used possibly
in blackmailing them into working for the U.S.”

But on several occasions the bugs picked up congressmen
and other prominent Americans. Hoover, said Newsweek,
would pass such intelligence on to Johnson, who often de-
lighted in placing FBI dossiers on his desk in the Oval
Office while subjecting vulnerable congressmen to political
armtwisting.

And it was Joe Califano, of all people, who told the story
of how his former boss” even had one Senator’s mistress
contacted to have her persuade her lover to vote to break
a filibuster.”*

Like occupants of the Oval Office before and after him,
LBJ had no compunction about “leaking” stories to the
press when it benefited him. But he had a “peculiar ob-
session” with leaks that didn’t bear his imprimatur, ac-
cording to Carl Rowan, who served under LBJ in several
capacities. Rowan recalls that in 1961 Vice President
Johnson told a startled group of State Department officials:
“You’re just a bunch of goddamned puppy dogs, running
from one fire hydrant to the next.”

As President LBJ had no compunction either about
calling on the FBI to make “name checks” of media per-
sonalities. Years later the Senate Intelligence Committee

♦The story is told in Califano’s recent book, A Presidential Nation
(New York: Norton, 1975). The number of times Califano mentions
“paranoia” in referring to his White House years is revealing.

220

VICTOR LASKY

determined that at least seven prominent journalists were
so honored. They included NBC commentator David Brink-
ley, Associated Press reporter Peter Arnett, columnists
Joseph Kraft and Peter Lisagor, and Life's Richard Stolley
(now managing editor of People ).

Like Mrs. Roosevelt LBJ would also make unusual
requests of the Bureau. He had heard rumors about the
peculiar sexual habits of a boyfriend of one of his daugh-
ters. He asked the FBI to check them out discreetly. In
this case the President’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

According to The New York Times, LBJ also received
details about Senator Robert Kennedy’s personal activities
and nightlife in Paris from what were described as “in-
telligence sources.” This apparently was in early 1967
when Bobby charged around Europe talking to diplomats
about the Vietnam war — and at night seeking out the com-
pany of such beautiful people as Candice Bergen. LBJ
wanted all the details.

There had, of course, been rumors about LBJ’s own in-
terest in the ladies. Those rumors surfaced recently when
Sally Quinn interviewed a young woman, once a con-
fidante of the late President, who claimed that LBJ had
even proposed marriage to her. The woman, Doris Kearns,
now an associate professor of history at Harvard, was writ-
ing a book about LBJ.

Though the Johnson family said nothing about this dis-
closure, Bill Moyers said it was possible. “While I don’t
really know whether or not he ever said to Doris what
she says he said,” said Moyers, “I suspect she heard ac-
curately what he said without understanding what he
meant.”

“LBJ,” Moyers continued, “said many things to many
people in the heat of anger, in the wiles of persuasion and
in the passion of frustration which every President faces.
He was given to stretching the truth to as thin a soup as
necessary to feed a lot of people. . . . He never proposed
marriage to me, but he made me feel sometimes as if I
might be an illegitimate son.”

And there were times toward the end of their relation-
ship when LBJ most definitely considered Billie-boy “ille-
gitimate.” There was little love, at least on LBJ’s part, when
the former Baptist minister decided to leave the “planta-
tion,” as the White House was being called because of the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 221

way LBJ cracked the whip. The reason Moyers quit — LBJ
told Walter Trohan — was because he wanted to be Secre-
tary of State and Johnson didn’t consider him qualified.

At that time Marvin Watson had become the overseer
of the “plantation.” He was called in from Dallas, where
he had been the assistant to the president of the Lone
Star Steel Company as well as chairman of the Texas State
Democratic Committee. Joining LBJ’s staff as appoint-
ments secretary, Watson was introduced to reporters by the
President himself. “Marvin,” said LBJ, “is as wise as my
daddy, gentle as my mama, and loyal to my side as Lady
Bird.”

Reporters soon discovered that Watson was running a
veritable Gestapo in the White House. “To begin with,”
wrote Joseph Alsop on January 17, 1966,

a part of the curious espionage system to which mem-
bers of the White House staff are subjected has been
rudely brought into t^e open. All staff members’
telephone calls are noted. All places they visit outside
the White House are reported by the government
chauffeurs. And these lists of contacts are nightly
studied, for symptoms of dangerous associations, by
the President’s new alter ego, Marvin Watson.

Moyers had come up with an extraordinary explanation
for Watson’s nightly list perusals. The press secretary said
they were solely motivated by a desire to achieve operating
economies.

“Yet,” Alsop continued,

it is of course an open secret that the telephone and
limousine checks are only parts of a much wider sys-
tem of surveillance that now covers most of the city
of Washington. It is informal, but it works very
efficiently.

In brief, a great many sleazy persons are now aware
that the quickest way to make brownie points at the
White House is to pass the word that X has been seen
talking to Y. Thus it is now an odds-on bet that any
X-Y meeting in a restaurant or other public place, will
soon be added to the White House’s dangerous associa-
tions list.

222

VICTOR LASKY

In addition, wrote Alsop, “the President’s attempts at
news control are much more aggressive, comprehensive,
and, one must add, repugnant to the American tradition,
than any such attempts by other Presidents.” Only sharp
protests, for example, prevented a total news control system
from being instituted at the State Department.

The explanation by Moyers was most revealing. “It’s very
important for a President to maintain his options up until
the moment of decision. And for someone to speculate,
days or weeks in advance, that he is going to do thus and
thus, is to deny to the President the latitude he needs in
order to make, in the light of the existing circumstances,
the best possible decision.”

To which Alsop commented:

Taken literally, this extraordinary statement appears
to mean that the President cannot do whatever his
duty requires him to do, if someone or other has al-
ready suggested in print that this is indeed what his
duty will require. . . . Most Presidents have, of
course, tried, in one way or another, to manipulate
the front and editorial pages of the press. But no
previous President has claimed the right to keep from
the country the basic facts of the national situation
unless he sees fit to divulge them. This is the novelty,
and a most alarming novelty it is!

LBJ’s interest in other people’s private business went
back to his days in the Senate, according to Abigail Mc-
Carthy. The wife of former Senator Eugene McCarthy,
Abigail tells in her book how, in Johnson’s years as Ma-
jority Leader,

he frequently boasted in off-the-record sessions that
no telephone call went in or out of the Senate wing or
the office buildings that he did not know about. News
people who visited his ranch and telephoned out their
stories told half humorously of incidents when they
could hear heavy breathing on the line as they did
so. One woman reporter was quoted as having said,
“Was that all right, Mr. President?” when she finished.
The story was probably apocryphal but was widely
believed.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 223

By the summer of 1966, Mrs. McCarthy continued,

it was taken for granted that most office phones and
the phones in officials’ houses were tapped. This was
probably absurd, considering the number of man-
hours that would have been involved in such wide-
scale surveillance. Yet the fact that it was believed
and acted upon is evidence of the unhealthy miasma
of fear and doubt which hung over the city.

The wife of a high official in the Administration
who had been my friend told me quite seriously that
we should communicate with each other by note or
personal visit in some neutral place.

After Gene McCarthy declared he would contest LBJ for
the nomination, the official’s wife arranged for Abigail to
meet her at New York’s Grand Central Station, where it
could appear that they had run into each other by ac-
cident.

Such was life in LBJ’s Washington.

According to the Sullivan memorandum, it was Marvin
Watson who asked the FBI to “monitor” the Senate For-
eign Relations Committee hearings on the Vietnam war.
The President, Watson said, was worried about “his
policies losing ground.” The President also wanted the
Bureau to check out rumors that Chairman Fulbright
and perhaps other committee members were receiving in-
formation from Communists. But, according to Sullivan,
“there was no evidence of this.”

A similar White House request, according to an FBI
memo prepared for the Senate Intelligence Committee, was
channeled through Attorney General Ramsey Clark, who
supplied a presidential aide with a summary of informa-
tion concerning the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear
Policy.

LBJ was convinced that the Soviets (if not, the Chicoms)
were behind much of the opposition to Vietnam in the
Congress and the media. Thanks to the FBI he would boast
about how he knew within minutes just what Fulbright
had told the Soviet ambassador at lunch at the embassy
and what Russian agents had told other members of Con-
gress at cocktail parties.

On another occasion, according to the Sullivan memo-

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VICTOR LASKY

randum, LBJ asked the FBI to find out whether top Re-
publicans hadn’t encouraged the July 1964 race riots in
Manhattan as a means of embarrassing the White House.
When the FBI reported it could find no such evidence,
the President asked again, “Weren’t there at least one or
two Republicans involved?’’ And again the answer was no.

On other occasions Johnson was convinced that the
Chinese Communists were bankrolling Black militants in
the ghettos as well as the peace marches in the streets.
“I damn well know there’s Red Chinese money involved,”
he told aides.

After one big “peace” rally in New York, LBJ told re-
porters at his ranch that he was carefully reading a
lengthy FBI report on who was behind the “anti-war ac-
tivity.” It was after this particular rally, at which Dr.
King spoke, that the FBI was given the go-ahead to cir-
culate stories about King’s “moral turpitude.” Even more
significant was the fact that those who wrote to the Presi-
dent protesting his Vietnam policies invariably received
replies from the Internal Security Division of the Justice
Department.

“Some of President Johnson’s requests parallel those of
President Roosevelt twenty-five years earlier,” commented
a staff report of the Senate Intelligence Committee. “The
FBI complied with White House requests for name checks
on dozens of persons who signed telegrams critical of U.S.
Vietnam policy in 1965. The names of other Presidential
critics were also sent to the Bureau to be checked and re-
ported on, as were the names of critics of the Warren
Commission. The FBI also volunteered reports on Presi-
dential critics.”

LBJ also went overboard in sending the FBI into the
Dominican Republic when leftists mounted an effort to
seize control there. It was a complicated situation, one
involving an effort by the ineffectual Juan Bosch to resume
the presidency of that tiny Caribbean nation. On sending
U.S. Ambassador W. Tapley Bennett back to Santo Do-
mingo, LBJ said sternly that under no condition would he
permit “another Cuba in this hemisphere.” Above all, the
President did not want Bosch back in power. “Giving the
Dominican Republic back to Juan Bosch,” he said, “would
be like turning it over to Arthur Schlesinger, Jr.”

Perhaps there was a need for American intervention.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 225

But LBJ muddied the waters when he exaggerated the
dangers faced by Americans remaining in the Dominican
Republic. In fact he made up stories out of the whole
cloth to explain the necessity for sending in the Marines.

At one news conference LBJ said: “Some fifteen hun-
dred innocent people were murdered and shot, and their
heads cut off, and ... as we talked to our Ambassador
to confirm the horror and tragedy and the unbelievable
fact that they were firing on Americans and the American
Embassy, he was talking to us from under a desk, while
bullets were going through his windows, and he had a
thousand American men, women and children assembled in
the hotel who were pleading with their President to help
preserve their lives.”

Testifying later before the Senate Foreign Relations
Committee, Bennett termed the whole story a fabrication.
No one had been beheaded; no bullets had splattered the
embassy; and he had never had to hide under his desk.

The dispatch of FBI agents to a foreign clime was actual-
ly unnecessary. They were supposed to look for Com-
munists seeking to seize the Dominican Republic. But, if
anything, that was a job for the CIA, not the FBI. As two
Bureau officials later told Dan Thomasson of Scripps-
Howard News Service, the gesture was “purely political”
and “strictly for domestic political consumption.” The FBI
had no reason to be there.

Also according to Thomasson, LBJ frequently manipu-
lated investigations of his appointees. There was, of course,
the President’s effort to influence the FBI report on Walter
Jenkins. Other examples included a man being considered
for an ambassadorial post who had some personal problems.
Several former FBI officials claimed that Johnson asked
them to “interview twenty-five persons, and when we turned
up derogatory information he asked for thirty-five and
then forty-five to balance off the bad data.” At last LBJ
ordered Clyde Tolson, Hoover’s top assistant, to conduct a
“final interview,” and LBJ made the appointment on the
basis of that interview.

Rarely had any other Chief Executive taken such a di-
rect interest in the FBI and its functions. This went for
other federal agencies as well. Thus LBJ kept personally
informed on major tax cases. And the President, who had
no right to such information, would enjoy talking about

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VICTOR LASKY

confidential IRS findings with his cronies. Of course this
was nothing new.

Biographer Alfred Steinberg tells the story of how LBJ
reacted when a TV news commentator on the 11:00 p.m.
news made a mildly critical comment about the President.
“I was expecting a tax refund from Internal Revenue
at the time,” the commentator said, “but a few days later
I was notified that court action would soon be instituted
against me for failure to pay my taxes. I was certain the
IRS had made a mistake, but my lawyer told me that I was
in for real trouble: Johnson had heard me make the
offending remark. So I took the only course available to
me. I called Sheldon Cohen, the director of IRS, and told
him I wanted to run a special half-hour show directly with
him and also work up a series of a half-dozen shows on
the wonders of the Internal Revenue Service. The tax ac-
tion was dropped.”

LBJ was particularly sensitive, and justifiably so, about
false rumors concerning his own possible complicity in
the Kennedy assassination. From the moment the evil deed
occurred, irresponsible rumormongers began noting that it
had taken place in LBJ’s own state on a political mission
that had been urgently requested by Johnson.

The new President immediately set up a blue-ribbon
commission headed by Chief Justice Warren to make a
painstaking investigation of the tragic events of November
22 and issue a report on its findings to the nation. The
Warren Commission issued a document of nearly 900
pages which, claiming there was no plot, pointed the
finger directly at Lee Harvey Oswald as the sole slayer.

From the beginning, however, there were critics of the
Warren Report. Some of them, for example, did not be-
lieve that Oswald — if he were indeed involved — was the
sole killer. Others could not believe that a single bullet
could have passed through the bodies of both Kennedy and
Governor John Connally.

The “assassination critics,” as they were called, began
to receive a great amount of attention. One of them, in
fact, wrote a best-selling book called Rush to Judgment.
All of which renewed doubts about Dallas, as well as pro-
moting conspiracy theories.

In 1965 Marvin Watson asked the FBI to provide the
White House with background information on seven of the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 227

critics. Members of the commission also received copies of
the FBI data. In January 1975 Hale Boggs, Jr., disclosed
that his father, the late Representative Hale Boggs, who
had been a member of the commission, received a file
from the FBI with derogatory information about the
critics of the commission’s work.* But the report that went
to the White House apparently was much more detailed
than that received by the Louisiana Democrat. Portions of
the FBI document were leaked to friendly newsmen. And
Lyndon Johnson was pleased that the leftwing backgrounds
of several of the critics were well publicized. For he felt
that many of the critics had been aiming their shafts at
him.

Like other presidents LBJ could brook no criticism. But
he responded in a particularly ill-tempered manner when
Eartha Kitt attacked the Vietnam war at a White House
luncheon given by Lady Bird. It was a boorish thing for
the Black songstress to do; but it hardly called for a CIA
investigation — which is exactly what occurred.

A file on Miss Kitt’s background was hastily compiled
ancf transmitted to the White House. It contained numer-
ous allegations concerning her romantic attachments. What
they had to do with national security is difficult to under-
stand. The reason the CIA was brought in, it was said,
was because of Miss Kitt’s long residence in foreign coun-
tries. But the FBI was active, too, as it turned out. In her
book Alone with Me , Miss Kitt contends that LBJ per-
sonally ordered a “subversive name check” on her just
hours after her clash with Mrs. Johnson. And she re-
produced sections of an FBI dossier compiled on her ac-
tivities by several government agencies, including the CIA
and the National Security Agency.

At a Washington Post Book and Author Luncheon in
February 1976 Miss Kitt challenged former LBJ aide Jack
Valenti’s syrupy appraisal of the late President. “You said
that he had a good side to him,” Miss Kitt said in her
sultry voice. But, she went on, “there was one thing that
struck me so strongly, that personally I have knowledge

♦Hoover would frequently refer to Boggs as “the old drunk from
Louisiana.” Boggs, in later years, would insist that he and other
members of Congress had been wiretapped by the FBI, but he was
never able to produce any proof to support his charge.

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VICTOR LASKY

of, that he was mean.” She claimed that after the White
House episode her career as an entertainer was severely
damaged in the United States.

The CIA became involved with domestic dissidents in a
big way after numerous requests by Johnson for informa-
tion linking the “peaceniks” with Communist governments.
On August 15, 1967, Richard Helms, then CIA director,
set up a unit within the Agency’s Counterintelligence Of-
fice to check into the possibility of such foreign links.

* Johnson, meanwhile, had appointed a commission
headed by Governor Otto Kerner of Illinois to study racial
outbreaks and find a way to prevent more of them. One
of the first requests of the Kerner Commission was to
the CIA for any information the Agency might have de-
veloped about foreign stimulation of the ghetto riots. Helms
wrote back, saying that while the Agency had no involve-
ment in domestic security, the CIA did have some limited
material from abroad which might be of interest.

In all, files on about 10,000 American citizens were
eventually established in the Counterintelligence Office.
About two-thirds of them were originated because of re-
quests by the FBI for information on the activities of
Americans abroad, or by the filing of reports received
from the FBI. These were the files made famous by Sey-
mour M. Hersh in The New York Times. According to
Hersh, the CIA had “conducted a massive illegal domestic
intelligence operation during the Nixon Administration
against the antiwar movement and other dissident groups
in the United States.” The trouble with his story was not
only that it exaggerated what had taken place but that it
pinned the blame largely on the Nixon administration. The
truth is that much of what were alleged to have been di-
rect violations of the CIA charter originated and were
carried out under Johnson.

A number of former Johnson administration officials
claimed there was no presidential directive ordering the
CIA to set up a special office to handle domestic in-
telligence about radical and antiwar groups. Helms had
testified under oath that he had initiated the special office
“in response to the express concern of the President.”

One of those officials, however, Dean Rusk, did recall
that the administration had developed some “hard evi-
dence” that foreign governments were indeed involved in

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 229

supporting the anti-war efforts. The administration decided
against making its information available, Rusk said, be-
cause “we didn’t want to smear all the others who were
legitimately against the war.”

Joe Calif ano, who had been a special assistant to LBJ
and later general counsel to the Democratic National Com-
mittee, said he was “stunned, really stunned” when he
read the story about Dick Helms’s testimony. The former
aide said he had no knowledge of any presidential directive
authorizing the CIA to monitor radical activities. Califano,
who had been directly involved in the White House re-
sponse to the civil rights riots and other disturbances in
the 1960s, said, “I had to ask myself after reading it —
were there two White Houses in 1967?”

There also appeared to be two Ramsey Clarks. One was
the more widely known liberal Clark, so liberal, in fact,
that in one of his more private moments Johnson said of
his Attorney General: “If Stokely Carmichael was knock-
ing at the White House door with a Bowie knife in one
hand and a pistol in the other, Ramsey Clark wouldn’t
arrest him.”

The other, perhaps the more real Clark, was Attorney
General when domestic spying was escalated to an enor-
mous operation, aimed at Black community leaders, anti-
war activists, New Left radicals — anyone the adminis-
tration regarded as a threat to national security. And all
of this was done on Clark’s express directions.

Ever since 1968 when he left Washington, however,
Clark has been in the forefront of movements to defend
dissenters, violent or otherwise. Not only did he emerge
as a leader of the American Civil Liberties Union, but he
has devoted considerable time as an attorney to represent-
ing extremists in trouble with the law. Needless to say, he
is now opposed to the very kind of secret government
activities which he himself assiduously promoted as Attor-
ney General.

Except that Clark has never leveled with his public on
what kind of shady activities he engaged in as the nation’s
chief legal officer — that is, “shady” in* light of the post-
Watergate morality.

The story was told in part by the President’s Commis-
sion on CIA Activities Within the United States, which
was headed by Vice President Rockefeller. Generally over-

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VICTOR LASKY

looked in the coverage of the report to President Ford was
the startling finding that it was “the Justice Department
under Attorney General Ramsey Clark (which) established
the first in a series of secret units designed to collate and
evaluate information concerning the growing domestic dis-
order and violence.”

The finding was especially startling because of Clark’s
image as one who has been excessively liberal in his ap-
proach to dissenters. And it was because of that image
that Nixon, during his 1968 campaign, argued the necessity
of ridding Washington of the overly permissive Clark for a
tougher Attorney General.

Just as startling was the Rockefeller Commission’s dis-
closure of the identity of the man who assisted Clark in
getting the “goods” on dissenters. Why, it was none other
than that paragon of virtue, the Honorable John Doar, who
later was to make a name for himself as the “fearless”
counsel to the House Judiciary Committee in its Nixon
impeachment proceedings. (Among the charges leveled
against Nixon by Doar was that the President had tram-
pled on the civil liberties of antiwar people and other non-
conformists.)

To quote the Rockefeller Report:

In early fall, 1967, Attorney General Clark asked
John Doar, Assistant Attorney General for Civil
Rights, to report on the Department’s facilities for
organizing information on individuals involved in civil
disorders. On September 27, 1967, Doar recommended
establishment of a “single intelligence unit to an-
alyze the FBI information we receive about certain
persons and groups who make the urban ghetto their
base of operation.”

The FBI was to constitute only one source of in-
formation for the proposed unit. As additional
sources, Doar suggested federal poverty programs,
Labor Department programs, and neighborhood legal
services. Doar recognized the “sensitivity” of using
such additional sources, but he nevertheless thought
these sources would have access to relevant facts.
Other sources of dissident information suggested by
Doar included the intelligence unit of the Internal

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 231

Revenue Service and perhaps the Post Office Depart-
ment. The CIA was not among the proposed sources.

In a memorandum dated November 9, 1967, Attorney
General Clark gave full approval to Doar’s recommenda-
tion. Clark found it “imperative” that the Justice Depart-
ment obtain “the most comprehensive intelligence possible
regarding organized or other purposeful stimulation of do-
mestic dissension, civil disorders and riots.” He appointed
a committee of four assistant attorneys general to make
recommendations concerning the organization and func-
tioning of the proposed unit.

“Planning and creation of the unit must be kept in
strictest confidence,” Clark’s memorandum stated.

On December 6, 1967, the committee suggested that the
new unit, in addition to analyzing FBI information, should
develop contacts with other intelligence agencies, includ-
ing the CIA, as sources of possible information. Follow-
ing this recommendation, Clark directed the organization
of the Interdivision Information Unit.

Objectives of the IDIU were: “. . . reviewing and re-
ducing to quickly retrievable form all information that
may come to this Department relating to organizations
and individuals throughout the country who may play a
role, whether purposefully or not, either in instigating or
spreading civil disorders or in preventing or checking
them.”

After its organization, the IDIU also began collecting,
collating, and computerizing information on antiwar ac-
tivists and other dissidents. Daily reports went directly to
Ramsey Clark’s office. Regular reports went to the White
House.

Doar’s memo to Clark, written September 27, 1967,
after he had returned to Washington following the De-
troit riots, noted that a “special problem” existed with the
Community Relations Service, an agency formed by the
1964 Civil Rights Act to help solve disputes in that area.
“Generally,” said Doar, “the service feels that if it passes
on information it learns in the course of its business about
activities in the urban areas that [sic] it will lose its
credibility with people in the ghetto. My personal view is
that the service is in the Department of Justice and should

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VICTOR LASKY

bring to the Department’s attention any information which
you request it to furnish.”

Roger Wilkins, then head of the Community Relations
Service, thought otherwise. He claimed his people were al-
ready too busy trying to break down the suspicion in Black
areas that they were spies. Now a member of the editorial
board of The New York Times , Wilkins says he “made it
clear to Ramsey Clark” that he would not seek to turn over
such information.

Nevertheless Doar’s memo did lead to the creation of
a computerized intelligence file that eventually grew to
contain some 18,000 names of all kinds of dissidents and
troublemakers.

So now we know, thanks particularly to the Rockefeller
Report, that not all the Watergate-type activity started with
the Nixon administration. Much of it was begun by those
who bellowed the loudest about Watergate — namely, lib-
erals like Clark and Doar.

And while we do not yet know the entire story of this
turbulent period, it is clear from the fragmentary record
that, as William Greider reported in the Washington Post,
“thousands of informers were recruited in black neighbor-
hoods, phones were tapped, mail and bank accounts were
inspected, community organizations infiltrated, campus
groups watched.” There were also illegal break-ins.

Many of these activities were exposed when thieves
broke into the FBI offices in Media, Pennsylvania, and
“liberated” 1,200 confidential Bureau documents. The
thieves, calling themselves the Citizen’s Commission to In-
vestigate the FBI, sent Xerox copies of the documents to
newspapermen and other interested parties. Among other
things the documents demonstrated that the FBI was fol-
lowing Clark’s orders to enlist undercover agents in the
ghettos in order to obtain advance warning of riots and
other outbursts.

And as a former FBI official explained, “We used the
same kind of program against the dissidents and the revo-
lutionaries as we used against the Klan.” But some of the
informers, according to court testimony, became agents
provocateurs, encouraging or even leading the targets of
their spying into acts of violence.

According to Greider, “neither Republicans nor Dem-
ocrats were eager to investigate the implications” of the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 233

“Media papers” — “not even Senator Ervin, whose Judiciary
Subcommittee on Constitutional Rights was alarmed by
Army spying but not by FBI spying.”

Military spying on civilians was another operation un-
leashed by the Johnson administration. Originating under
Secretary of Defense McNamara, the covert actions were
deemed necessary because of “national security” considera-
tions. Much of the army surveillance was directed against
antiwar militants, some of whom were plotting to sabotage
military installations. The army brass, for the most part,
objected to this unwanted activity. As did the FBI, whose
director felt it constituted competition by not-too-well-
trained sleuths. Eventually, under the glare of embarrassing
publicity, the program was abolished.

During the Johnson years espionage, wiretapping, and
other “dirty tricks” were not only used against radical dis-
senters but against LBJ’s political adversaries. Thus, during
the 1968 campaign, Nixon found himself the object of
FBI surveillance. As he later told James J. Kilpatrick,
“There was not only surveillance by the FBI, but bugging
by the FBI, and Hoover told me that my plane in the last
two weeks was bugged.” Hoover told Nixon this when he
visited the President-elect at the Hotel Pierre in New York
during the 1968 interregnum.

There can be little doubt that Johnson was anxious to
learn everything he could about the Republican candidate
and runningmate Spiro Agnew. In fact a file of “sensitive”
information about the relatively unknown former governor
of Maryland was assembled by the FBI for transmittal to
the White House. What LBJ was looking for, as usual, was
personal dirt to be used to promote Humphrey’s, cam-
paign for the presidency.

In addition LBJ ordered the FBI through “Deke” De-
Loach to make a check of phone calls made by Agnew
from his campaign plane. Also requested were the tele-
phone toll records of members of the Agnew staff. Again
the rationale was “national security.”

One of the FBI’s major assignments was to find out
whether Agnew or anyone on his staff was in touch with
South Vietnamese officials in Washington in an effort to
sabotage the Paris peace talks launched by Johnson. The
National Security Agency reportedly had intercepted a
cable to Saigon transmitted from its Washington Embassy

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VICTOR LASKY

advising the Thieu regime that it would get a better deal
from Washington if the Nixon- Agnew ticket were elected.

When a copy of that cable reached LBJ, an irate Presi-
dent demanded an immediate FBI investigation. The en-
suing developments were described in testimony before the
Senate Intelligence Committee by “Deke” DeLoach:

“I received a call from Mr. James Jones, who was the
top assistant to the President . . . late one evening, and
he indicated the President wanted information concerning
either Mr. Nixon or Mr. Agnew insofar as toll calls being
made from Albuquerque, New Mexico, were concerned. I
told Mr. Jones I felt this was not a correct thing to do,
particularly at this time of night, and while we would try
to comply with the President’s specific request, we would
not do it that night.

“The President then called me personally in my office
late that night and indicated that did he understand my
refusal to Mr. Jones correctly; and I said, yes, he did. I
said I thought that it would be wrong for us to try to ob-
tain such information that late at night. The President
then proceeded to tell me that he was the Commander in
Chief and that when he needed information of that nature,
he should get it. However, (after) I reiterated my ob-
jections . . . the President indicated all right, try to get it
the following day.”

Which is what DeLoach did. The next morning he re-
ceived Hoover’s permission to proceed with the investiga-
tion. The first move was to have the FBI field office in
Albuquerque check the record of toll calls made from
the Agnew plane wehn it was in New Mexico some days
previously. And, according to former Governor David F.
Cargo of New Mexico, the phones in the governor’s man-
sion in Santa Fe were tapped during a visit by the vice
presidential candidate.

Also initiated with LBJ’s approval was the wiretapping
and physical surveillance of Anna Chennault, widow of
famed World War II Flying Tiger General Claire Chen-
nault and an avid money raiser for the 1968 Nixon cam-
paign. It was LBJ’s belief that Mrs. Chennault was seek-
ing to mobilize the opposition of the Taiwan, South Ko-
rean, and South Vietnamese governments to the Paris
peace talks seeking an end to U.S. involvement in South-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 235

east Asia. And how did LBJ get any such idea? According
to Theodore White, Mrs. Chennault had “neglected to
take the most elementary precautions of an intriguer, and
her communications with Asia had been tapped by the
American Government and brought directly to the perusal
of President Johnson.”

LBJ, though not a candidate for reelection in 1968,
wanted to do everything possible to get Humphrey to replace
him in the Oval Office. So he notified Humphrey of what
White described as “the sabotage of the negotiations and
the recalcitrance of the Saigon Government.”

In other words, what had been obtained in the name
of “national security” was being used for domestic political
purposes.

DeLoach was also in charge of this operation. As he
testified, it was his recollection that “the Executive Secre-
tary of the National Security Council, Mr. J. Bromley Smith,
called me on one occasion and indicated the President of
the United States wanted this done. I told Mr. Smith that I
thought what he should do is call the Attorney General con-
cerning this matter, and I believe either Mr. Hoover or I
later received a call from the Attorney General indicating
that this should be done.”

“Was it done?” asked Senator John Tower of Texas.

“There was a physical surveillance on Mrs. Chennault,
yes, sir.”

“What did it include?”

“The usual physical surveillance, as I recall, Senator,
following her to places where she went in the city of
Washington, and . . . also a trip that she made to New
York.”

“Did it involve the constant monitoring of any and all
of her incoming and outgoing telephone calls?”

“I believe the instructions of the President and the
specific instruction and approval of the Attorney General,
that a wiretap was placed on her telephone, sir.”

“So during the period of time between October 30 and
November 7, all her telephonic communications were mon-
itored by the Bureau?”

“I don’t recall the specific dates, Senator, but I do know
that such surveillance was established.”

“Who was the Attorney General at the time?”

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VICTOR LASKY

“I believe that would have been Mr. Clark.”*

Whether Humphrey was aware that the Chennault ma-
terial had been obtained through illegal wiretapping and
physical surveillance is not known. But the Democratic
candidate conceded that he sent his own campaign aide,
James Rowe, to the South Vietnamese ambassador with a
warning that the Thieu regime had better cooperate in
Paris lest, should Humphrey be elected, Marshal Thieu
“would rue the day.” Humphrey later denied that he knew
anything of wiretapping and physical surveillance of the
Chinese-born socialite.

And Mrs. Chennault denied she had anything to do
with any conspiracy to thwart the peace talks, claiming she
was being made a “scapegoat.” Even if she had, she still
was within her constitutional rights to urge foreign gov-
ernments to do whatever she wanted them to do. In her
denial, however, she castigated “inaccurate political cal-
culations in high places by those who presumably had all
instrumentalities of intelligence at their disposal.”

Humphrey was aware of what the FBI had done during
the 1964 Democratic Convention. He knew, for example,
that Johnson had used a special FBI team equipped with
wiretaps and bugs to spy on troublemakers in Atlantic
City. According to a memo from Hoover to his top as-
sociates including DeLoach, the director told of a con-
versation he had with William Connell, executive assistant
to Humphrey. Dated August 15, 1968, the memo stated:
“William Connell . . . had talked to the Vice President
about the team I sent into the Convention area in 1964
that was so helpful. He stated he was hoping perhaps I
might be able to do the same thing for the Vice President
out in Chicago and have my men directly in contact with
him [Connell].”

Though Humphrey did obtain limited FBI assistance, the
Vice President did not get “the same thing” that LBJ
had gotten four years previously. The reason was that At-
torney General Clark, who had been willing to approve the
Doar plan to spy on dissidents, not being a Humphrey

♦Clark’s position on wiretapping as Attorney General was erratic.
Though he approved the Chennault operation, he had turned down
previous FBI requests to install “a technical surveillance” at offices
of New Left organizations planning demonstrations at the 1968
Democratic National Convention.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 237

man, refused to authorize the “telephone surveillance” re-
quested by the FBI. “There has not been an adequate
demonstration of a direct threat to the national security,”
Clark informed Hoover.

A week after Connell had talked to Hoover, “Deke” De-
Loach received a call from John Criswell, treasurer of the
Democratic National Committee. And in a memo dated
August 22, 1968, DeLoach reported that Criswell had had
dinner the previous night with Marvin Watson. Then Post-
master General, Watson “had informed him of the great
service performed by the FBI during the last Democratic
Convention in Atlantic City . . . Criswell wanted to know if
the same services could be performed this time in Chicago.
He also asked if I could personally go out and take charge,
as was the case in Atlantic City.”

DeLoach informed Criswell that Connell had already
talked to Director Hoover about the matter. “I stated the
Director had made complete arrangements to have a top-
flight group of experienced agents, under the supervision of
the Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Office, handle
this assignment. I told Criswell I felt certain these men
would do an excellent job and the Vice President’s office
would be kept fully advised at all times of need-to-know
information.”

The significance of the memo is that a functionary of
the Democratic National Committee could feel free to call
on a top FBI official for assistance in gathering political
intelligence.

The CIA had also gotten into the act. One of its agents,
posing as a private detective, investigated the personal life
of one of Nixon’s aides during the 1968 campaign. The
target of the inquiry was Richard V. Allen, the Republican
candidate’s pre-Kissinger foreign policy adviser.

The CIA operative was identified as Franklin R. Geraty.
On June 25, 1968, two weeks after Allen joined the Nixon
staff, Geraty appeared in the offices of a banker in Palo
Alto, California, where Allen had been living. Displaying
credentials indicating his connection with the Fidelity Re-
porting Service of New York City, Geraty asked for any
personal information the banker might have on Allen. He
explained he was doing background checks on Nixon aides
for the Republicans.

Suspicious, the banker divulged nothing to his visitor.

238 VICTOR LASKY

Later he telephoned Nixon’s personal secretary, Rose
Mary Woods, to find out what w^s going on. Miss Woods
phoned back to report that no one had been authorized
to conduct an investigation of Allen.

John J. Caulfield, who was then chief of staff security
for Nixon, checked into the matter. He discovered that the
Fidelity Reporting Service, which Geraty said he repre-
sented, was a “CIA outfit.”

If anything, as Allen himself later noted, the CIA’s
covert efforts to obtain information about him, whether for
legitimate or political motives, was “a clear violation of
the charter of the CIA.” But the Nixon high command
decided not to expose the improper use of the CIA, as it
was later explained, because any attack on the Johnson
administration could move President Johnson to more
enthusiastic support of Humphrey.

“We went out of our way not to provoke Lyndon,” a
top Nixon aide said, “even though we knew he had au-
thorized some shady ventures against us.”

The fact remains that improper investigations, wire-
tapping, bugging, and physical surveillance of Republicans
did take place on orders of President Johnson. All of
which constituted a flagrant disregard of individual civil
liberties, as well as a definite misuse of federal police
agencies for partisan political advantage.

Yet years later when the facts began to emerge, there
was a profound disinterest on the part of the same media
that went bananas over Watergate. As Professor Noam
Chomsky, the authority on linguistics who was involved
in most antiwar protests of the sixties, put it: “Illegal FBI
operations [under Kennedy and Johnson] . . . while in-
comparably more serious than anything charged in the
Congressional Articles of Impeachment or other denuncia-
tions of Nixon, aroused scant interest and little concern,
specifically, in the organs of American liberalism that were
so agitated over the latest tax trickery or tape erasure.

“Ergo,” concluded Professor Chomsky, “Nixon’s de-
fenders do have a case.”

And Nicholas von Hoffman, who was not often accused
of being a Nixon apologist, wrote: “In the months since his
departure, his defense looks better. Half a dozen Con-
gressional committees have brought forth volumes of in-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 239

formation all adducing that the break-ins, the tapping, snoop-
ing and harassment have been routine government ac-
tivities for a generation at least.”

Much of this had long been known in the halls of Con-
gress. During the hearings of the Ervin Committee, for
example, there was a determined effort to prevent infor-
mation on Democratic precedents to Watergate from leak-
ing out. And those investigative reporters, later to be im-
mortalized by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman, made
no effort to dig out the material.

For good reason, too, from their point of view. “Be-
cause,” as William Satire noted, “the public, if possessed
of the whole truth, might not have acted as the public
opinion manipulators wanted them to. If the whole truth
were let out, Mr. Nixon might have escaped. . . .”

In his book At That Point in Time * Fred Thompson,
the minority counsel of the Senate Watergate Committee,
explained why even the Republicans on the committee did
not call former FBI Deputy Directors Sullivan and De-
Loach to testify about their first-hand knowledge of abuses
of power under Democratic Presidents. “[Senator Lowell]
Weicker was adamantly opposed,” wrote Thompson.

He said it would look like an attempt to justify some
of the actions of the Nixon Administration. [Senator
Edward] Gurney reluctantly agreed. He didn’t want to
further tarnish the image of the FBI. He also felt, as
I think we all did, that the press would down-
play the story and treat it as a Republican attempt to
take the heat off of Nixon. The fact that FDR and
LBJ had used the FBI for political purposes might be
a significant story at another time, but not while
Nixon was on the ropes.

And so the greatest cover-up of all took place. All
evidence concerning the incredible abuses of power under
the Democrats was officially suppressed, lest there by any
amelioration of the tremendous hatred being focused on
Richard Nixon.

Only later, long after Nixon was gone from center stage,
♦(New York: Quadrangle, 1975), pp. 143-144.

240

VICTOR LASKY

did the unpalatable facts about Democratic presidents be-
gin to emerge. Not all of them, by any means, but enough
to cause dismay among those who had been so tumultuous-
ly aggrieved by Watergate. The sound and fury which had
marked the Nixon years had died down to a whimper.

SIXTEEN

By the time Lyndon Johnson left office, his administration
was under bitter attack by the media and its subsidiary or-
ganizations. Thus in 1968 the journalism society Sigma
Delta Chi had this to say: “The Credibility Gap, which
has reached awesome proportions under the Johnson Ad-
ministration, continued to be a grave handicap. Secrecy,
lies, half-truths, deception — this was the daily fare.”

In turn there were those who felt that the press had
its own credibility problems. Douglas Cater, special as-
sistant to President Johnson, suggested that too often news-
men presumed an expertise they quite obviously didn’t
have.

“I’m concerned about the little demigods of TV who
make an instant analysis of complicated events,” said
Cater. “There should be bounds on what TV men do, so
much of which is delivered with flippant abandon.”

Cater, of course, was and is of the liberal persuasion. His
remarks concerning “instant analysis” were generally over-
looked at the time. A year or so later Vice President Spiro
Agnew used the same phrase in condemning television
coverage of presidential speeches — and all hell broke loose.
The reaction ran true to form. The liberals claimed the re-
marks augured — in the words of the International Press In-
stitute in Zurich — “the most serious threat to the freedom
of information in the Western world.” And commentators
like Walter Cronkite agreed.

But down in Texas the former President wondered out
loud whether “Ted” Agnew had been politic in saying
what he did. It wasn’t that Citizen Johnson disagreed with
what was said. Shortly after the 1968 election he had
sought to warn the Vice President-elect about the an-
tagonistic nature of the media.

“Young man,” he had told Agnew, “we have in this

242

VICTOR LASKY

country two big television networks, NBC and CBS. We
have two news magazines, Newsweek and Time. We have
two wire services, AP and UPI. We have two pollsters,
Gallup and Harris. We have two big newspapers — the
Washington Post and The New York Times. They’re all so
damned big they think they own the country. But, young
man, don’t get any ideas about fighting. . .

Well, Agnew got precisely that idea and came out swing-
ing. Lyndon, of course, had also battled with the media
and been bloodied in the process. He had even lost control of
the Democratic Convention held that terrible year of
1968. So fearful was he of angry outbursts from many of
the delegates, particularly on Vietnam, that the President
did not even put in an appearance at the Chicago Stock-
yards.

Another reason was the furies in the streets. Chicago
just was not safe for the President. Thousands of antiwar
youths rampaged through the Loop district, shouting ob-
scene slogans and battling with the cops. The resultant
scenes on national television were devastating.

And no one was more aware of that than Hubert Hum-
phrey as he was being nominated for the presidency of the
United States. The exemplar of the “politics of joy” had
been watching the nominating speeches in his hotel room
on television. Just as Carl Stokes, the Black mayor of
Cleveland, took the rostrum to make a seconding speech,
the screen switched to filmed coverage of the violence in
the streets. Blood showed up in living color. And Hubert
was beside himself.

As the ubiquitous Teddy White made notes, Humphrey
denounced the television coverage as injurious to his
chances. “I’m going to be President someday,” he said
angrily. “I’m going to appoint the FCC — we’re going to
look into all this!”

The implication was, of course, that as President, Hum-
phrey intended to wreak vengeance on the broadcast
media. But the threat did not appear to arouse much con-
cern on the part of people like White, who later was to
write in detail about the hubris of the Nixon administra-
tion.

Needless to say, Humphrey never got the chance to
meddle with the FCC. But his hurt remained. For a long
time he felt the media had done him in. And, like Nixon,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 243

he felt that some reporters had deliberately sought to “get”
him.

There could be little doubt that certain sections of the
media had overplayed the violence in the streets. Lead-
ing Democrats felt it was all deliberate. The final irony
was that the convention coverage undoubtedly helped tilt
the closely contested election to Nixon.

Moreover, in covering the big stories, media people
were not above taking the law into their hands. On Sep-
tember 6, 1968, for example, the National Broadcasting
Company acknowledged that some of its personnel had
conducted illegal electronic surveillance on the Democrats
at their recently concluded convention.

According to an NBC statement, “overzealous and
overeager employes, acting without authority” (sound fa-
miliar?), had planted a microphone in a closed meeting of
the Democratic platform committee at the Sheraton-
Blackstone Hotel.

Representative Hale Boggs, the committee chairman,
disclosed that the microphone had been discovered under
a cushion behind a curtain. He said that it “was attached
to a cable leading directly to the recording facilities of the
National Broadcasting Company in the same hotel.”

A member of the committee told The New York Times
that the supposed confidential proceedings had been in-
terrupted for about fifteen or twenty minutes when the bug
was discovered. “There was also some belief that an ear-
lier meeting a day or two before had been bugged,” he
added, “because the Chicago papers had such complete
details of the closed meeting.”

Boggs, meanwhile, announced he had requested an in-
vestigation of the incident, noting that the laws must ap-
ply equally to all men and that wiretapping, bugging, and
eavesdropping, except in matters of national security or or-
ganized crime, constituted direct violations of federal and
state statutes.

“The matter now is for determination by the appropriate
Federal and state law enforcement agencies,” he added.

In a telegram to Boggs NBC News President Reuven
Frank said that NBC intended “to take stern disciplinary
action against any personnel who acted improperly.” In a
separate statement NBC claimed that no material obtained
by the bugging was used in any way, that the network

244

VICTOR LASKY

deeply regretted the episode which, it added, was not
“condoned or encouraged by NBC News.”

Several weeks later Drew Pearson and Jack Anderson
reported in their column that NBC was about to be in-
dicted and that one of its producers, Enid Roth, who had
allegedly planted the bug, had been selected as the “scape-
goat.”

“This action,” the columnists added, “marks the first
time in history that the Government has cracked down on
the high-handed operations of the networks, which in the
past have helped instigate riots, played a part in encour-
aging trouble during the Little Rock school crisis, and
slanted the news brazenly at the Chicago convention.”
Pearson and Anderson also reported that Chairman
Harley Staggers of the House Interstate Commerce Com-
mittee had ordered an investigation of news slanting by
the networks. Investigators had reported, among other
things, that while Humphrey was delivering his accep-
tance speech, an NBC director made sure that only un-
flattering shots of the Vice President were used.

And Senator Gale McGee had supplied the committee
with information regarding an episode he personally wit-
nessed on a Chicago street. The Wyoming Democrat said
he saw a TV producer lining up several female protesters
before his cameras. Not one of them had been hurt,
menaced, or threatened. Yet when the producer gave the
cue, they began to scream: “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”
According to Pearson and Anderson, the networks also
went out of their way to present Mayor Daley in the
worst possible light. And, they reported, TV film clips of
the Chicago riots, “some of them partially whipped up by
TV producers,” were transmitted “all over the Communist
and non-Communist world.”

But the Staggers probe never got off the ground.

Nor, as it turned out, was NBC indicted for breaking
the law. What ultimately happened was that on March 20,
1969, “scapegoat” Enid Roth was indicted and charged
with two counts of “wilfully endeavoring to use an elec-
tronic device to intercept oral communications.” In Feb-
ruary 1970 Miss Roth pleaded no defense to one count of
the indictment, was fined $1,000 as well as costs, and
given a suspended sentence. More recently Miss Roth, still

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 245

with NBC, turned up at both 1976 conventions as the
television network’s on-the-air director.

Needless to say, the lawbreakers in Watergate did not
fare as well.

But what is significant about all of this is that it went
virtually ignored by the rest of the media. The press only
became aroused about such lawbreaking during Water-
gate. Then no network spent as much time, day in and
day out, in exposing “the crime of the century” as did
NBC. Hypocrisy obviously is not confined to politicians.

Of course such “escapades” — as The New York Times
described them — were nothing new. As an example the
newspaper noted how at the Republican Convention in
Miami Beach some weeks previously a delegate from
Florida concealed a tape recorder at a closed meeting at
which Richard Nixon addressed Southern delegates. The
tape was turned over to the Miami Herald and the St.
Petersburg Times , both of which published stories based
on Nixon’s secretly recorded remarks. As it turned out, it
was an enterprising Herald reporter who provided the
delegate with the recording equipment.

Jack Anderson himself was no stranger to electronic
surveillance. In July 1958 he was caught in a hotel room
with a congressional investigator spying on Bernard Gold-
fine, the wealthy industrialist whose gift of a vicuna coat
to Sherman Adams, a presidential assistant, became a
major scandal of the Eisenhower administration.

Anderson was mortified about being caught red-handed
participating in the invasion of someone’s privacy. But his
boss. Drew Pearson, shrugged off proposals from close
friends that he fire Jack. Instead Pearson issued a state-
ment which paraphrased Eisenhower’s defense of Adams.
“Anderson might have been imprudent,” said Pearson,
“but I need him.”

Not as fortunate was Baron I. Shacklette, the chief in-
vestigator of the House Special Subcommittee on Legisla-
tive Oversight which had been looking into Goldfine’s
peculiar links to the Eisenhower administration. As a re-
sult of the Goldfine “bugging” Shacklette was forced to
resign. Years later this background was ignored by Rep-
resentative Wright Patman when the Texas Democrat hired
Shacklette as his administrative assistant. Patman, inci-

246

VICTOR LASKY

dentally, was among the first in Congress to become
alarmed about the ramifications of Watergate.

Perhaps because his improper activities had been di-
rected against the likes of Goldfine, the media laid off
Shacklette. At most the investigator suffered little more
than momentary embarrassment. His caper was quickly
forgotten. However, Howard Hunt and Gordon Liddy paid
a far greater price for conspiring to do exactly what
Shacklette did.

“Bugging” had long been considered a major tool of in-
vestigative reporters. What Anderson did, therefore, was
nothing new. And it didn’t hurt him a bit. In fact it helped
in his extraordinary career. As he told Susan Sheehan of
The New Yorker in 1972, “getting caught like that was
the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me . . .
but I later found out it didn’t hurt me at all. Everyone
thought it proved we were getting just the kind of key-
hole evidence they suspected we were getting.”

In his book The Truman Presidency Cabell Phillips tells
how reporters bugged a caucus of the Illinois delegation
at the 1952 Democratic Convention in Chicago. The epi-
sode took place on the afternoon of Sunday, July 20, when
the delegation met in a private dining room of the Morri-
son Hotel.

As Phillips relates the story.

The press had been excluded from the meeting. But
the room had been “bugged” by an enterprising radio
correspondent, and a group of other reporters, clus-
tered behind a plastic room divider behind the speak-
er’s table, overheard the entire proceedings. Even be-
fore the caucus broke up, news wires across the
country were cracking with speculations “on the high-
est and most unimpeachable authority” that Adlai
Stevenson’s name would be put in nomination and that
he would not block it.

Some of the nation’s better known political reporters of
the time were in on the caper. They included Edward T.
Folliard of the Washington Post, nationally syndicated
columnist Doris Fleeson, and Charlie Cleveland of the
Chicago Daily News. Their stories quoted Governor
Stevenson as saying he was not being coy or indecisive; he

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 247

just didn’t want to run for President. “I have no fitness —
temperamentally, mentally or physically for the job,”
Stevenson said. Without knowing that their words were
being overheard, one delegate after another rose to say the
governor had no choice but to run. And it soon became
obvious that, regardless of his wishes, Stevenson’s name
would go before the convention.

Significantly, in describing the episode, Phillips used
the adjective “enterprising.” There was no condemnation
of media people for employing such tactics. If anything
there was tacit approval. The same adjective was used by
three British journalists in their book on the 1968 cam-
paign in describing the Miami Herald reporter who per-
suaded a Florida delegate covertly to tape a Nixon speech.

The point of all this is that the media has long relied on
Watergate-type tactics to obtain stories, and has rarely
criticized itself for doing so. In fact spying has long been
considered a virtue in the ranks of journalists.

In the October 1973 issue of that sprightly, iconoclastic
journal The Alternative , Richard Wheeler gave some per-
sonal insights into the realities of so-called investigative
reporting. “A couple of years ago,” wrote Wheeler,

when I was a journalist in Montana, I attended a
meeting under news management auspices in which
our speaker was a Helena bureau chief freshly re-
turned from a seminar at the American Press Institute
on investigative reporting.

“Our speaker

discussed what he had learned in New York about in-
vestigative reporting, which is often a euphemism for
such deep digging tactics as espionage, bullying in-
formation out of people, buying information — and
electronic spying. Among the participants at the API
seminar . . . were a couple of Life reporters who in-
structed the group on the uses of electronic spying,
and discussed pridefully their successful use of bugs
to supply the material for several expose type stories
in the magazine.

Our speaker named several such stories, and noted
that at the API seminar there had been little malaise

248

VICTOR LASKY

about such illegal activity, because it helped newsmen
fulfill their watchdog function. In fact, he reported,
some had felt that bugs were a positive good, and a
vital investigating tool. Now of course, all this is
hearsay, but I have no reason to doubt the truth of it,
especially when the speaker was waving an issue of
Life containing, he said, a story acquired by illegal
bugging. The response among my colleagues was
equally enthused; indeed, I was nearly the only one
there who felt that the end did not justify such ne-
farious means. . . .

So we are entitled to ask whether the press’ op-
position to electronic spying is principled. If it is true
that Life reporters bugged sources illegally, would
the gentlemen of the press agree that such reporters
should get the same twenty to thirty-five year sen-
tences meted out to the Watergate conspirators? One
suspects, after all, that such sentences are draconian,
and that one does not normally spend a quarter or a
third of a lifetime in prison for a first offense of
breaking and entering.

But has the press respectfully pleaded with Judge Si-
rica for a more temperate sentence? The judge is a rea-
sonable man, and would surely listen if a respectful re-
quest for a better justice were directed to him by
the press. But the press is in a vengeful mood, and is
inclined to approve the Watergate justice. One wishes
that each reporter who had similarly used bugs illegal-
ly might spend an equal time behind bars.

Of course, Richard Wheeler really doesn’t expect that
ever to happen. The fact is, as we shall see, that despite all
the so-called lessons of Watergate, there continue to be in-
vasions of privacy by the media. And one of the worst
offenders continues to be the Washington Post, which has
long had an undistinguished record of such sleazy be-
havior. A recent example was the assignment by Ben
Bradlee of two reporters to snoop into the private life of
Congressman Wayne Hays. Does the “right to know” in-
clude the right to listen in on boudoir conversations?
Granted that Hays was an old scoundrel, but even scoun-
drels have rights. And where will it all end? The next

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 249

thing might well be some enterprising reporter demanding
to know more about Kay Graham’s private life, which the
Post publisher insists is no one’s business but her own.

It was the Washington Post, utilizing the services of a
self-described political spy in the 1950s, which nearly
came a cropper when it developed that the individual in
question was nothing more than a semiliterate confidence
man wily enough to rip off some of the nation’s leading
liberals. Based on information provided by this confidence
man, the Post had prepared twelve articles exposing the
supposedly evil doings of Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wis-
consin. Fortunately for the Post someone had the presence
of mind to decide almost at the last minute to check out
the material. All of it proved to be phony.*

But it wasn’t only the Post that willingly became in-
volved in one of the sleaziest episodes in American po-
litical history, one now conveniently forgotten by those
who like to look back with horror. Some of the most
powerful members of the liberal fraternity willingly con-
doned the very use of confidential informants, dossiers,
and political spies which they condemned in others. They
felt that their purpose was above reproach. Any means, in
their view, justified the end of destroying Joe McCarthy.

Consider the names of some of the “biggies” involved
in the plan to “get” McCarthy. They included Joseph L.
Rauh, Jr., chairman of Americans for Democratic Action;
Telford Taylor, Chairman of the National Committee for
an Effective Congress; James Wechsler, editor of the New
York Post ; Clayton Fritchey, more recently a columnist
for the Washington Post; and the three top officials of
the Washington Post at the time, Philip Graham, James
Russell Wiggins, and Alfred Friendly.

Also involved were Robert Eichholtz, a Washington
lawyer and Rome representative of the Marshall Plan dur-
ing the Truman administration; Paul Porter, partner in one
of Washington’s more prestigious law firms, and a former
high official of the Roosevelt and Truman administrations;

♦The full and amazing story of how the con man got himself
financed by the cream of American liberalism can be found in
Wiliam F. Buckley’s article, “The Case of Paul A. Hughes, The
Liberal Light that Failed,” National Review, Feb. 13, 1960, pp. 101—
105.

250

VICTOR LASKY

and Clark Clifford, another prestigious lawyer who had
been special counsel and leading adviser to Democratic
presidents.

The story began in late 1953 when a recently dis-
charged airman named Paul Hughes approached the staff
director of Senator McCarthy’s Subcommittee on Investiga-
tions with an eye-popping story of high treason at an
American air force base in Saudi Arabia where he had
been stationed. Staff director Francis Carr took notes,
checked the story, found it to be a fabrication, and told
Hughes to get lost. Hughes then took his wild yarn to
the FBI, where his story was also checked, and he was
shown the door.

Switching stories, Hughes then approached General Cor-
nelius Mara, who had been a White House aide and in-
timate of President Truman. So overwhelmed was Mara
with what Hughes told him that the general turned him
over to Clayton Fritchey, then editor of the Democratic
party’s official magazine Democratic Digest. According to
the story Hughes now told, he was a covert agent of the
McCarthy Committee. As such, he had come across in-
formation that shocked him. And he was offering to re-
port on the secret doings of the committee. An agreement
was reached. Mara and Fritchey agreed to pay Hughes his
“expenses.” And they also agreed to the aliases “Yale”
and “Ewing” respectively. Aha, they must have felt, what
a great way of getting the goods on Joe McCarthy!

Hughes then sought out another mark, Joe Rauh, who
was most receptive. Particularly after he heard Hughes’s
shocking tale of the secret horrors perpetrated by Mc-
Carthy. In fact Rauh’s appetite for anti-McCarthyiana
was insatiable. He demanded more. And Hughes obliged,
bringing in a ninety-four-page document full of “goodies.”
Satisfied, Rauh placed Hughes on his private payroll.

The document, as it was later disclosed in a courtroom,
was a masterpiece. Reading it, Bill Buckley said it could
easily have been “the work of a master psychiatrist seek-
ing, simultaneously, to assuage and to aggravate a patient
of unbalanced political outlook. The salve was there — for
here was confirmation in abundance of the worst one could
imagine about McCarthy; and also the galvanizer — here
was a call to glory, a call for extraordinary exertions to
destroy the monster McCarthy.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 251

Consider the “revelations” which Hughes unfolded for
Rauh’s “eyes only.” They concerned the secret and dark
alliance between Eisenhower and McCarthy (their open
hostility was, in effect, play-acting); marital problems de-
veloping between Senator and Mrs. McCarthy; a clandes-
tine White House meeting at which a smear campaign
against the Democratic party was programmed; secret Mc-
Carthy informers scattered about the White House, the
CIA, the State Department, and elsewhere in the federal
bureaucracy; McCarthy’s personal views on a host of mis-
cellaneous subjects ranging from ethics to Drew Pear-
son. The package included “documentation” consisting of
notes, official communications, inter-office memoranda, and
secret transcripts. Like the good con man he was, Hughes
had worked hard to convince the mark. He could well
have provided inspiration for the characters played by
Paul Newman and Robert Redford in The Sting.

The Hughes memorandum made these recommenda-
tions:

... as McCarthy is presently violating some very se-
rious military and civil laws, we should obtain pho-
tographs and written evidence and witnesses to that
effect. The result of evidence of this nature is not only
elimination but also prosecution by the Federal Gov-
ernment as well. You must make a decision relative
to whether you want McCarthy removed permanently
or not. If you do, it is relatively a simple legal
matter. . . .

There are many important military and civil officials
in the Washington area alone willing to go to any
extremes to remove McCarthyism from the political
scene. Any coordination desired in this matter is
relatively simple to obtain. Surely no obstacle exists
in coordinated observation of me during my un-
authorized procurement of classified material and my
subsequent handling and disposition of same. Under
coordinated but secure surveillance, observation will
disclose that I surreptitiously procured [according to
instructions from McCarthy] various amounts of clas-
sified data; photographic evidence, controlled, will
pinpoint McCarthy personnel receiving unauthorized
classified material from me.

252

VICTOR LASKY

Phone taps can be utilized, initially, to tie in all
illegal incidents performed by me to specific McCarthy
staff personnel. Phone taps can be further utilized for
admissions by staff personnel of security violations
and compromises of classified military projects. . . .

. . . Being nice, too ethical, or squeamish, will ac-
complish less than nothing where McCarthy is con-
cerned. ...

Joe Rauh bought all these Watergate-type recommenda-
tions to the tune of 8,500 of his own dollars. He made an
arrangement whereby Hughes was to report to him directly
and regularly on the activities of McCarthy and his In-
vestigations Committee. In so doing, Rauh placed no
limits on what Hughes was to do in obtaining his secret
information — including illegal phone taps.

Of course Rauh had long been bitterly opposed to such
anti-civil libertarian tactics when they were used against
liberals or even confirmed subversives. In fact in the May
1950 issue of The Progressive he had insisted, “Let us do
away with confidential informants, dossiers, political spies.
. . . No one can guess where this process of informing will
end/’

In Rauh’s case the process of informing ended up in a
federal courtroom in Manhattan. Two years after he had
hired Paul Hughes, Rauh’s use of confidential informants,
dossiers, and political spies led a jury of his peers to refuse
to take his word over that of a self-confessed liar and con-
fidence man.

The case involved allegations of perjury on Hughes’s
part. One count, for example, contended that Hughes had
lied when he told a grand jury that Rauh had known all
along that he was a phony. In other words Hughes had
contended that Rauh was a knave.

Thus when he took the witness stand, Rauh in effect was
forced to argue that, no, he was not a knave, but a fool.
Despite all the sophistication he had picked up in many
years of political involvement, he had not known he was
being taken, he insisted. The jury chose not to believe him.

At any rate it was Rauh’s contention that the reason he
had hired Hughes was to seek to develop a legal case
against McCarthy, not to look for prurient details of the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 253

senator’s personal affairs. But as it turned out under ques-
tioning, Rauh never did advise Hughes to limit his reports
only to evidence of legal wrongdoing. And Alfred Friend-
ly, managing editor of the Washington Post , likewise found
it difficult to explain why he had written down numerous
notes about McCarthy which had absolutely nothing to do
with illegal activities. Some of them were prurient indeed.

Also taking the line that his interest in McCarthy was
limited was that paragon of anti-McCarthyism, Clayton
Fritchey. Then why, asked the judge, was he so interested
in Hughes’s claim that a McCarthy sympathizer worked on
the Louisville Courier-Journal? “What did that ” the judge
went on, “have to do with illegal activities?” Fritchey’s re-
sponse: “It happened — a friend of mine happened to be a
publisher of the Courier-Journal. . .

Under questioning by the defense counsel, Rauh testified
that Hughes had informed him that McCarthy’s spy on
the New York Post was — would you believe? — the Post's
cooking editor.

counsel: Did you call Mr. Wechsler, editor of the Post ,
and tell him?
rauh: Yes, sir.

counsel: You didn’t feel that the cooking editor was go-
ing to slant any recipes in McCarthy’s favor, did you?
rauh: That wasn’t the purpose. That wouldn’t have been
the purpose to have somebody there.
counsel: What was the purpose of McCarthy having a
spy as the cooking editor?

rauh: Because a cooking editor like anybody else has ac-
cess to all the records, files and clips and other matters
on the paper and to all the discussion. It doesn’t matter
who the person is. I didn’t feel he should have anybody
on the paper.

the court (interrupting): You don’t believe in having
spies?

rauh: No, sir.

counsel: Unless they are your own?
rauh: Unless you are trying to uncover illegal activity,
which I was trying to do.

counsel: You didn’t think McCarthy was trying to un-
cover illegal activity?

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VICTOR LASKY

rauh: No, I didn’t.

counsel: You thought you were the only one trying to do
that?

rauh: I thought the Washington Post and I were the Qnly
ones trying to do that.

Of course when it came to loyalty risks holding jobs in the
U.S. government, Joe Rauh had other views.

The court was also interested in why, if Hughes’s em-
ployers were so concerned about McCarthy’s illegalities,
they did not turn to the Justice Department and, par-
ticularly, Attorney General Herbert Brownell. For exam-
ple the judge asked General Mara, “Did you explain to
Mr. Hughes why you called in Mr. Fritchey and, let’s say,
not Mr. Brownell?” The general seemed a bit shaken.
“I don’t quite — well,” he mumbled, “the only reason I
called in Mr. Fritchey was, I felt he had newspaper back-
ground, that he could analyze this thing. . . .”

Under questioning Fritchey was asked if he recalled
“whether Hughes at any time expressed any opinions which
caused you seriously to doubt his ethics or morality?”
“No,” he replied, “not one single thing, no.”

Whereupon there was inserted into the record a memo-
randum which Hughes had submitted to Fritchey and later
Rauh. Excerpts from the document, dated December 1953,
are as follows:

Phone taps can be utilized [against McCarthy]. . . .
Don’t discount the tremendous value in just bargain-
ing power of recorded phone discussions. ... A pro-
gram of this type, although not nice, can result in
harm to no one except [McCarthy]. ... As mentioned
earlier, being nice, too ethical or squeamish, will ac-
complish less than nothing, where McCarthy is con-
cerned. McCarthy has stated many times, “Ethics
went out the window with buttoned shoes.” So there-
fore I don’t see the necessity for us to send a boy to
do a man’s work. If both federal and civil law en-
forcement agencies use the same unethical procedures
to bring to justice criminals, are we not justified in
using similar methods to expose [McCarthy] . . . ?
It is most easy to prove and document [McCarthy’s

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

255

guilt] ... by relaxing somewhat on ethics. This per-
haps is probably what I’m best suited for. . . .

Thus twenty years before Watergate several of Amer-
ica’s leading liberals agreed to a plan in which wiretapping
was proposed as a means of dealing with a hated political
enemy. Not only that, they shelled out cold cash to the
author of a memorandum advocating numerous outright
illegalities. These were the same liberals who would so
vociferously castigate the Nixon administration.

At any rate Paul Hughes began to submit numerous re-
ports about the evil doings of McCarthy and his gang. But
the report which really had everyone shook up was the
claim by Hughes that Joe and his staff had amassed a cache
of pistols, Lugers, and submachine guns in the basement
of the Senate Office Building. The implication was ob-
vious. The McCarthyites were planning a putsch aimed at
seizing the government!

By this time the Washington Post was preparing a series
of articles based on the exclusive revelations provided by
the paid informer. When twelve pieces were completed
under tight security, someone in the Post’s hierarchy thought
it would be wise to check out some of the sensational ma-
terial. After checking some of the sources of the anti-
McCarthyiana, reporter Murray Marder quickly de-
termined that the stories, already in type, were phonies.
Whereupon the series was killed.

And then silence!

Not one word of how it had been “taken in” by an ad-
venturer was published in the Post , even though it had ex-
clusive access to all the details. And Joe Rauh failed to take
the matter to the authorities, even though he had been ripped
off for a considerable sum by a phony who went around
flashing false credentials as a Senate investigator, in itself
an illegal act. That present-day moralist, Clayton Fritchey,
said nary a word to the police about a man who subse-
quently sought to blackmail him. Also saying nothing to
anyone in authority was General Mara, to whom Hughes
had given a bad check.

What these liberal worthies wanted above all else was to
forget their embarrassing, if not illegal, transgressions. But
it was not to be. When Hughes once again tried to con the

256

VICTOR LASKY

FBI, he was hauled before a grand jury. Whereupon he
was indicted on six counts of alleged perjury. Two counts
concerned Hughes’s contention that Rauh was aware that
his claim to being a McCarthy investigator was false, and
that his reports on McCarthy’s doings were doctored.

On February 3, 1956, following a jury trial, Hughes was
acquitted. Two years later the government recommended
that Hughes not be retried. Its reason: “During the trial
the credibility of the major Government witnesses was
severely attacked by its defense. . . . There is no reason to
believe that a second jury would be any less receptive to
the contentions made by the defense.” In other words, ac-
cording to the government, the credibility of such wit-
nesses as Joe Rauh, Clay Fritchey, and A1 Friendly left
much to be desired.

When the National Review, shortly after the conclusion
of the Hughes trial, chided liberal publicists for not com-
menting on the case, Richard Rovere wrote editor Buck-
ley, saying, “I agree with you that the Hughes case is full
of import. ... I know that I shall deal with the Hughes
case in (my forthcoming book.)” The book turned out to
be a study of Senator McCarthy; but it did not contain a
single reference to Hughes.

Eventually the Washington Post did publish a brief, self-
serving editorial. And that was all. Forgetting its own deep
involvement with a secret informer, the Post continued to
condemn such practices when used by anti-Communist
“witch-hunters.” When Watergate broke, however, the Post
again sought out secret informers which it described as “re-
liable sources. One or a combination of those sources will
forever be known as “Deep Throat.”

Of course the Post has long believed in the right to pri-
vacy for everyone but Richard Nixon. Thus it was the
first American newspaper to publish a story involving
Henry Kissinger’s private remarks concerning his former
employer and other prominent figures.

All this took place at a state dinner held in Kissinger’s hon-
or in Ottawa in October of 1975. Talking animatedly, the
Secretary of State came up with some startling (for Ca-
nadians) views concerning his former leader. According
to Henry, Nixon was an “odd, artificial and unpleasant
man.” At the same time he conceded that Nixon was “one

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 257

of our better Presidents. . . . He was very decisive in his
own way. He went to the heart of the problem.”

On and on he prattled, little knowing that his seemingly
private comments were being transmitted by a microphone
to newsmen gathered elsewhere. Two days later the Secre-
tary’s babblings were published on the front page of the
Washington Post.

Most everyone in the media enjoyed the story. Only one
journalist worried aloud about its import. In a radio com-
mentary Hugh Sidey of Time observed, “It seems that
everybody but we journalists apologized. ... As one of
the trade, I am disturbed that there was not someone
somewhere who said, wait, this is not only ungentlemanly
but decidedly unfair. Kissinger should have been told what
was happening. . . . The pursuit of the facts needs to be re-
lentless, but if all the rules of decent conduct are ignored
along the way, we may find we have defeated ourselves.”
A flabbergasted Kissinger meanwhile tried to make
amends by telephoning his “profuse apologies” to Nixon.
The Secretary claimed he had been quoted out of context
— the usual excuse for such faux pas. But both he and
Nixon knew better. For Henry had been saying pretty
much the same things elsewhere, but without benefit of a
prying media. And reports of these indiscretions had
reached/San Clemente.

None of which has endeared Kissinger to the man who
made the Secretary what he is today. And it must have
given Gerald Ford some cause for alarm. What, the Presi-
dent must have thought, will Henry be saying about me
when he no longer needs me?

During the Nixon years Kissinger went out of his way
to butter up the President. His praise of Nixon was un-
stinted. In private conversations he described the President
as “a genius whose understanding of foreign policy is un-
paralleled.” At the same time (at least to this writer) he
went out of his way to attack John F. Kennedy as a
“dilettante,” whose “opening to the left” had led the nation
into deep trouble “from which we have yet to recover.”

Of course in his sotto voce comments on Nixon, Kissin-
ger was seeking to placate his liberal friends, whose hatred
of the former President knew no bounds. But, in so doing,
the Secretary made a serious mistake. For the word soon
was out that no longer would Nixon’s friends seek to pro-

258

VICTOR LASKY

tect him from allegations that it was he who helped initiate
the wiretapping of numerous persons, including former
aides, one of whom, Morton Halperin, was suing him.

Indeed as the facts began to be assembled, it became
increasingly obvious that it was largely because of Kissin-
ger’s almost hysterical preoccupation with plugging “leaks”
of national security information that the secret “plumbers”
unit was established at the White House.

And out of the plumbers’ activities came Watergate.

SEVENTEEN

Probably the most extraordinary aspect of Watergate was
the fact that so many outsiders — including officials of the
Democratic National Committee — were among those who
had knowledge of the break-in many weeks before it oc-
curred. Yet some of these individuals later conceded that
they did nothing to prevent the episode. Indeed it would
appear that some of them welcomed it.

Evidence that the victims of the break-in had been
warned of what was being planned was developed by the
minority staff of the Senate Watergate Committee. Sworn
testimony was taken in executive sessions from three of-
ficials of the Democratic National Committee, columnist
Jack Anderson, and the two individuals who had given
the warning: A. J. Woolston-Smith, a New York private
investigator, and William F. Haddad, a former official of
the Kennedy and Johnson administrations.

From the beginning these investigators, headed by mi-
nority counsel Fred Thompson, found themselves being
hampered by witnesses who contradicted themselves and
each other, had incredible lapses of memory, and who mis-
placed or lost important documents. As Thompson was
later to put it, “An obvious effort had been made to con-
ceal the facts.” But, he added, he had no doubt that “several
people, including some at the Democratic headquarters,
had advance knowledge of the Watergate break-in on June
17 , 1972 .”

Because they were unable to find a “smoking gun” in
anyone’s hands, as Thompson put it, and because of the
press of Watergate business, “we knew that we could not
justify the expenditure of any more time, effort and money
on a matter that, even if our hunches turned out to be
true, might add up to a finding of historical interest only.
We realized that we had played out the string, and we let

260

VICTOR LASKY

the matter drop, reluctantly, with a gnawing feeling in our
stomachs.”

Nevertheless since nearly all the information came from
testimony given under oath, a thoroughly documented sum-
mary was prepared and a major effort was made to include
it in the committee’s final report. But, as expected, Senator
Ervin agreed with the majority staff’s opinion that the Re-
publican effort was “too speculative,” and it was never
published.

According to the transcripts of the once-secret testi-
mony, among the first to be warned of the forthcoming
break-in was none other than Lawrence F. O’Brien, the
Democratic national chairman who was the major target
of the caper. One of O’Brien’s old friends from the days
of Camelot, William Haddad, had written him a letter, say-
ing he had been hearing “some very disturbing stories about
GOP sophisticated surveillance techniques now being used
for campaign purposes and of an interesting group here
in New York where some of this ‘intelligence’ activity is
centered.”

Haddad said that the stories had come to him “from a
counter-wiretapper who helped me once in a very difficult
situation in Michigan.” Haddad thought the information he
had available was so important that it might be wise for
O’Brien to “have someone call me so you can get the info
first hand and take whatever actions you deem necessary.”

O’Brien immediately instructed the DNC’s director of
communications, John Stewart, to follow up on the matter.
Stewart flew to New York for an April 26, 1972, meeting
at Haddad’s office. The meeting was attended by Stewart,
Haddad, Woolston-Smith, and Ben Winter, the vice presi-
dent of a New York bank. Haddad later testified that Win-
ter, a friend, happened to be in his office and that he in-
vited the banker to sit in on the meeting “to hear some-
thing fascinating.”

It was at this meeting that Haddad suggested that “little
Cuba in Miami” was involved in the planned bugging of the
office of the Democratic National Committee and that
what the Republicans were after was evidence that the
Democrats were being subsidized by Castro’s Cuba. Ac-
cording to Haddad’s testimony, the discussion centered on
ways in which the funding of the espionage operation
might be traced. Also discussed was a Republican or-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 261

ganization in New York called the November Group that
had some connection with someone named G. Gordon
Liddy. The name of Attorney General Mitchell was men-
tioned.

Woolston-Smith’s sworn testimony also indicated that
these were among the matters discussed in Haddad’s office.
And he added that James McCord, who participated in the
Watergate burglary, had been mentioned at the meeting.
According to Woolston-Smith, John Stewart was “very in-
terested” in the Cuban money angle.

For Thompson’s investigators, Mike Madigan and
Howard Liebengood, all this testimony was a “bombshell.”
For it meant that six weeks before the Watergate burglars
were apprehended, Haddad knew that Cuban-Americans
would be involved and that they would be looking for
evidence that Castro was helping subsidize the DNC.

And who was Woolston-Smith? A short, roundfaced,
balding man, he described himself as a “security consul-
tant” to a firm calling itself the Science Security Associates,
Inc., with offices at 441 Lexington Avenue in New York
City. A one-time British intelligence agent — he said he
carried a New Zealand passport — Wollston-Smith’s immigra-
tion status was that of a permanent resident of the United
States. Following the Bay of Pigs, he testified, his offices
in New York were used by the CIA as a clearinghouse for
those returning from the aborted invasion. Woolston-Smith
said his contacts with what he described as the “intelligence
community” were excellent. Which, he indicated, was how
he first heard rumors about what later became known as
Watergate.

Haddad’s banker friend, Ben Winter, testified that Wool-
ston-Smith had displayed a “sophisticated bug” at the April
26 meeting and had handed it to both Stewart and Had-
dad. Winter thought that the investigator’s information was
based on hard evidence obtained through surveillance,
rather than theory. During his interview Woolston-Smith
insisted that he did only “defensive wiretapping,” i.e., detec-
tion of bugging. The bug he exhibited at the meeting, he
said, was only a fake model intended to show the type of
equipment available in the market. But he did confirm that
he had visited the building in which the November Group
was located, but insisted that he had remained in the
hallway and never entered the suite.

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VICTOR LASKY

Two days after the April 26 meeting Haddad wrote a
letter to Stewart, saying that Woolston-Smith had “good
information” and that, as a former investigative reporter,
it was his judgment “that the story is true and explosive.”
Seeming to respond to a question from Stewart about
whether the private detective wanted to be paid for con-
tinuing his investigation, Haddad wrote that Woolston-
Smith “did want to cover expenses.” Haddad added: “In-
stead of pursuing this with money, I decided to see what a
good investigative reporting operation could do with it
now. So I went ahead along these lines. If they draw a
blank, I’ll be back to you on how to proceed, and I’ll keep
you informed.”

At the same time, Haddad told the Senate investigators,
he transmitted all the material in his file to Jack Anderson
with a covering letter. But, he said, he did not keep any
copies of either the material or the letter.

As Thompson later said, “We wondered what there was
that was ‘true and explosive,’ as Haddad had put it in his
letter. Whatever it was, it was in the files sent to Ander-
son, and they did not want us to know its contents.”

Having been warned that there were plans afoot to bug
their offices, did the Democrats notify the police, have
their premises “swept” for bugs, hire guards, or even ask
the staff to take precautions? Not on your life. Stanley
L. Griegg, then deputy chairman of the DNC, said that
even though John Stewart had told him that Woolston-
Smith had warned there might be electronic surveillance
and possibly breaking and entering, he felt that the in-
formation was too fragmentary. Besides, he told Stewart,
the DNC “didn’t have the finances for an elaborate se-
curity program.”

Woolston-Smith however was astonished that, despite his
repeated warnings, the Democrats had done nothing to se-
cure their headquarters. “I don’t think I could have spelled
it out more,” he said. “It’s no use asking me why they did
nothing. It’s all beyond me.”

“In retrospect,” said Larry O’Brien, whose private office
and telephone had been the targets of the break-ins, “we
should have paid more attention to it, but my recollection
was that there were no specifics or clear lines. I don’t re-
call I got any recommendation about what to do about it,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 263

and if there was one, the question was how did we pay for
it?”

Thus great pains were taken to create the impression
that the Democrats had not taken the warnings
seriously. And no one appears to have asked why they did
not at least tip off the authorities of what they had been
told. The fact is they already knew their offices had been
broken into. During the first week of May, according to
Griegg’s testimony, unknown burglars had removed var-
ious documents and checks. And on another occasion
there had been an unsuccessful effort to force the locks.
Under these circumstances the Democrats’ total inaction
over the bugging warning appears strange indeed. Though
no one admitted it, the minority investigators did think it
conceivable that a search had been made for bugs and
that one had been found in O’Brien’s office. The June 17
break-in, which resulted in the apprehension of the Water-
gate burglars, was made largely because that bug was not
functioning properly. The feeling was that the O’Brien bug
may not have died a natural death.

In his testimony Woolston-Smith said that the DNC’s
interest in his information continued right up to the time
of the June 17 break-in. He said that he and Stewart talked
on the phone several times a week, denying that Stewart’s
interest had waned at any time. “It was hot right up until
the end and after the end.” Their last pre-Watergate dis-
cussion was, as Woolston-Smith later recalled, “along the
lines of ‘something is about to happen.’ ”

And happen it did on a muggy Saturday in mid-June
when five men wearing business suits and surgical gloves,
carrying $100 bills and a walkie-talkie, were arrested in
the middle of the night. Later that day Stewart tried to
reach Woolston-Smith, but the investigator was away for
the weekend. Stewart finally reached him on Monday,
June 19. According to Woolston-Smith, Stewart was
“elated.” Asked what he was elated about, the private de-
tective said, “Elated that we had more or less called it the
way it happened.”

Asked to elaborate further, Woolston-Smith said, “This
enthusiasm seemed to have been, well, we may not have
this election, but boy, we have got them in real great
position.” He said this was because Stewart thought there

264

VICTOR LASKY

was definite involvement in the break-in of the Com-
mittee to Re-elect the President (CRP). Woolston-Smith
said that the DNC. people were “expecting the newspapers
to develop it.”

Stewart painted a very different picture. According to
his testimony, his contact with Woolston-Smith was ex-
tremely limited and the investigator’s information was “so
unsubstantiated that it certainly was not the basis for action
on our part.” He indicated that he had only one telephone
conversation with him before Watergate. At first he could
not recall any meeting with him prior to June 17. Only
when he was told that others had testified he had met
with Haddad, Woolston-Smith, and Winter would Stewart
admit that it was possible. Stewart also had difficulty re-
calling the letter Haddad had sent him dated April 28, two
days after the New York meeting. Though the letter had
described Woolston-Smith’s story as “true and explosive,”
Stewart said he had no recollection of having seen it,
though that too was possible. But he did say that following
the Watergate arrests, he had recalled Woolston-Smith’s
warning and gave him a call to ask whether he had any
additional information. But, according to Stewart, Wool-
ston-Smith said he knew nothing more.

It was obvious to Thompson and his investigators that
someone wasn’t telling the truth. While Haddad and Wool-
ston-Smith often gave the impression of being fuzzy and
less than candid in their testimony, Stewart seemed to go
to unusual lengths to play down his meetings and con-
versations with Haddad and Woolston-Smith. So lacking
in credibility was Stewart’s testimony that his inquisitors
wondered what he was afraid of. Would the admission
that the Democratic high command had taken Woolston-
Smith’s warning seriously have been so damaging?

Apparently it would. For if the DNC had taken the
warning seriously, it would have been difficult to explain
why no obvious defensive measures had been taken.
Woolston-Smith did not accept the idea that there was no
money available for security. He noted that field force
meters to detect bugs could have been purchased at little
cost. And he pointed out that while the DNC was crying
poverty, Larry O’Brien was hitting the committee for
numerous “perks,” including a round-the-clock chauffeured
limousine.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 265

Woolston-Smith’s conclusion, as he told Senate inves-
tigators, was that the DNC had a plan to let the break-in
and bugging take place and then capitalize on it.

Whether that was indeed the plan has never been fully
established. What is intriguing, though, is the speed with
which the DNC proceeded to file a $1 million lawsuit
against the Committee to Re-elect the President. On the
Tuesday following the weekend arrests, Larry O’Brien an-
nounced the suit which, he said, was an attempt to force
the issue into examination in U.S. District Court.

Thompson and his staff finally were forced to terminate
their investigation of the prior-knowledge angle before they
could obtain answers to some perplexing questions. Just
how did Haddad and Woolston-Smith manage to amass
such accurate information on the Watergate break-in in ad-
vance? Did they have access to information obtained by
electronic surveillance? Or was there a double agent within
the ranks of the Watergate burglars?

Suspicions had fallen on James McCord, who had bun-
gled the break-in, kept in touch with the CIA, confessed
to federal Judge John Sirica, and ended up serving very
little time in jail. McCord’s name had come up at the
April 26 meeting in Haddad’s office. While looking into
the November Group, Woolston-Smith had learned that
McCord had come up from Washington to check whether,
as suspected, the group’s phones were being tapped. The
lines most definitely had been tampered with. On one
occasion an office conversation on the WATS line was in-
terrupted by an unknown party who began cursing out
Nixon as a “murderer” of women and children in Viet-
nam.

It wasn’t too long before Woolston-Smith learned that
McCord, a former FBI agent as well as a CIA employee,
considered himself to be “a bit of a wireman” — in other
words, something of an expert in electronic surveillance.
And the investigator also learned that McCord was buy-
ing all sorts of electronic equipment, paying for it with
$100 bills and, in one case, leaving his CRP calling card.
The word soon got out in the inbred world of intelligence
operatives that the security chief for the Nixon campaign
effort was up to something.

But why did Woolston-Smith become interested in the
November Group in the first place? According to his testi-

266

VICTOR LASKY

mony, the private eye first began probing into its affairs in
December 1971. As it turned out, the November Group
was a legitimate enterprise set up by the Nixon reelection
campaign to handle its newspaper advertising and television
commercials. Yet Woolston-Smith became so suspicious of
what he thought it was doing that he personally cased its
premises. He testified, however, that he did this from the
hallway, never going inside. But why? And why, as it
later developed, did the CIA keep a dossier on Woolston-
Smith?

Jack Anderson, who later informed investigators he had
misplaced the letter containing the Haddad file on the
bugging plans, reported that he was not able to develop
any further information on the basis of what Haddad
had provided. The columnist recalled receiving a rather
“sloppy” one-page letter (“kind of dashed off hurriedly”)
from Haddad sometime in April 1972, advising that the
November Group was going to wiretap the Democratic
National Committee. He said he had run into a stone wall
and just dropped the matter. For one thing he looked into
the November Group and found it to be perfectly above
board. However, as he disclosed in his column, he subse-
quently learned that McCord, while in New York check-
ing out the group’s phones, had “made the mistake of
confiding his plans to bug the Democrats to old FBI
friends. The word spread through the investigative com-
munity, reaching us in Washington two months before
the celebrated Watergate break-in.”

By coincidence Anderson was a friend of one of the
Miamians apprehended at the Watergate — Frank Sturgis,
a non-Cuban soldier of fortune who had connections with
the CIA and had participated in anti-Castro activities. It
was through Sturgis that Anderson became knowledgeable
about Cuban underground affairs. For example he had once
met Bernard Barker, later the team leader of the break-in,
through Sturgis. They had spoken of a mysterious “Edu-
ardo,” their CIA superior during the Bay of Pigs, and
only after Watergate did Anderson realize they were speak-
ing of E. Howard Hunt.

In an article in the July 22, 1973, issue of Parade mag-
azine, thirteen months after the Watergate break-in, An-
derson made what appeared to Thompson’s investigators
to be an amazing revelation. The columnist reported that

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 267

on June 16, 1972, less then twenty-four hours before the
break-in, he had “run into” Sturgis at Washington’s Na-
tional Airport. Anderson wrote that he was surprised to see
his old friend because usually the Miamian would call him
before he came to Washington. Though he was in a hurry
to catch a plane for Cleveland, Anderson stopped to chat.
He asked Sturgis what he was doing in Washington. “Pri-
vate business,” replied Sturgis, who then introduced him to
Virgilio Gonzalez, the Cuban locksmith who was to pick
the Watergate locks the next day.

Two days later Anderson learned the nature of Sturgis’s
“private business.” The front pages carried the story of
the Watergate arrests. Anderson then paid a visit to the
District of Columbia jail to see Sturgis. In fact he got
there before the jailers even had Sturgis’s correct name.
Sturgis had been booked under an alias, Anderson testified,
and he had a hard time finding him. The columnist said he
found his old friend “tight lipped,” saying only that the
Watergate project had been part of the struggle against
Castro. In return for their services, Sturgis said he and his
fellow burglars had been promised, among other things,
that some Cuban refugees living in Europe would be
permitted to resettle in Miami. After this visit Anderson
sought to have Sturgis released to his custody, but the
Justice Department was adamantly opposed.

“My court appearance in Sturgis’ behalf also disturbed
the Democrats,” wrote Anderson. “After I printed details
of Larry O’Brien’s expense accounts, the Democrats issued
a statement suggesting I had received information stolen
from their offices by the Waterbuggers. I had managed,
as usual, to gain the enmity of both political parties.”

According to Thompson, there were other unanswered
questions concerning who else may have had prior knowl-
edge of the Watergate break-in. But under the press of a
deadline and handicapped by representing a minority party
at the mercy of an antagonistic majority, Thompson’s small
staff didn’t have the time or the resources to pursue every
lead or to force the reconciliation of every contradiction.
And contradictions there were aplenty.

Probably the most intriguing area of investigation con-
ducted by Thompson under the aegis of Senator Howard
Baker, vice chairman of the Watergate Committee, had to
do with exactly what the CIA knew — and when. The in-

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VICTOR LASKY

vestigation came up with no hard answers, only more ques-
tions, the main reason being the obvious unwillingness of
the CIA to come clean on what it knew. And apparently
the Agency knew plenty.

That the White House wasn’t always pleased with the
CIA was established in testimony. Indeed one witness,
David Young, told how his boss Kissinger would some-
times write, “This is a piece of crap,” across CIA estimates
and return them to Langley. When Young and Egil Krogh
were assigned to establish the “plumbers” — the White
House task force formed to plug national security leaks —
the CIA realized it had a competitor, and subsequently
there were a number of connections between the CIA and
the plumbers. Which raised the question whether the CIA
had sabotaged the Watergate break-in in order to weaken
the White House and strengthen the Agency. After all
the CIA had done jobs like that before.

Consider what happened at the home of James McCord
shortly after he and the other Watergate burglars had
been apprehended. His wife began burning his papers.
Present at the time was a CIA operative named Lee R.
Pennington, Jr. Though Pennington later testified that his
presence had been strictly coincidental. Baker flatly charged
that Pennington had “destroyed documents which might
show a link between McCord and the CIA.” But Mc-
Cord’s connection with the Agency was not exactly a
secret. So why the burning of the documents? The only
conceivable answer was that they might have established a
CIA relationship with McCord at the time of the break-in.

But even more startling was the frenzied effort by the
CIA to mislead the FBI about the incident; when the Bu-
reau inquired about a “Pennington” in August 1972, the
CIA furnished information about a former employee with a
similar name who — as Baker later noted — “was obviously
not the man the FBI was interested in.” If ever there was
an effort to obstruct justice, this was it. Information about
the “real” Pennington was provided to Watergate probers
in February 1974, a year and a half later, only after a low-
echelon CIA employee protested an order to remove the
material from the Agency’s Watergate files to prevent its
disclosure. The unnamed “personnel security officer #1”
informed his superiors, according to closed-door testimony,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 269

that he would not be party to the destruction of the
Pennington documents.

Another murky episode was the destruction of tape re-
cordings of certain room and telephone conversations on
orders of Richard Helms just before he departed as CIA
director to become ambassador to Iran. This was ap-
proximately a week after Helms had received a letter from
Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield requesting that the
Agency safeguard all evidence pertaining to Watergate.
Some of the lost tapes were phone conversations with
President Nixon, H. R. Haldeman, and John Ehrlich-
man. Helms later insisted that none of the conversations
had anything to do with Watergate. Moreover he said
- that the tape wipeout was customary whenever a new
director took over. But according to Baker’s final report,
two facts seem clear: “First, the only destruction for which
the CIA has any record was on January 21, 1972, when
tapes for 1964 and 1965 were destroyed (there are no
records of periodic destruction); and secondly, never be-
fore had there been a destruction of all existing tapes.”
Which, in effect, raised questions concerning Helms’s pre-
cipitate behavior which, according to Baker, were never
resolved.

A third area of focus in the Baker report was the re-
lationship of E. Howard Hunt with the CIA. There can be
little doubt that the relationship was extensive. A long-
time employee who retired from the Agency in 1970, Hunt
—at White House request — was given full CIA cooperation
in the Daniel Ellsberg incident. Thus, among other things,
the Agency assigned its psychiatrists to assemble a “pro-
file” of the intense young intellectual who had purloined
the Pentagon Papers and then released them to the press.

The Baker report noted the CIA assistance to Hunt—
which included the furnishing of false driver’s licenses and
identification papers, pocket litter, a voice changer, wig,
fake glasses, a Uher recorder disguised in a typewriter

case, a camera hidden in a tobacco pouch, and the like

was not terminated until August 27, 1971, one week be-
fore the break-in at the offices of Ellsberg’s psychiatrist, Dr.
Lewis Fielding. CIA laboratories also developed photos
taken by Hunt and Liddy when they “cased” Dr. Fielding’s
office in Beverly Hills. One CIA official who reviewed the

270

VICTOR LASKY

film testified that he found the photos “intriguing” and
recognized they were taken in southern California. He
then ordered one of the photos enlarged. The blow-up re-
vealed Dr. Fielding’s name in the parking lot next to his
office, which information was immediately taken to higher-
ups at the CIA.

And although the CIA publicly claimed it had no con-
tact “whatsoever” with Hunt after August 1971, the Sen-
ate investigation disclosed at least a half-dozen later con-
tacts continuing into the spring of 1972. In fact the CIA
psychiatric study of Ellsberg was not completed until No-
vember 1971. All of which led Senator Baker to contend
that “documents and conflicting testimony of CIA per-
sonnel” had raised questions about “whether the CIA had
advance knowledge of the Fielding break-in.”

Hunt maintained still another CIA connection. After
leaving the Agency in 1970, he joined the Robert R.
Mullen & Co. on a parttime basis. The Mullen organiza-
tion was a Washington public relations firm which had long
provided a “cover” for CIA operatives in Europe and Asia.
President of Mullen was Robert F. Bennett, the son of
Senator Wallace Bennett, a Utah Republican. Shortly
after he joined the Mullen firm in 1971, Bennett was in-
troduced to the firm’s CIA case officer. In joining Mullen,
Bennett brought over a prestigious public relations ac-
count — that of the Hughes Tool Company, Howard
Hughes’s major corporation. According to CIA records,
the Agency had given consideration to utilizing the
Mullen-Hughes Tool relationship to provide a “cover” ar-
rangement in South America, as well as to gather in-
formation on Robert Maheu, the CIA’s former go-be-
tween with the Mafia in the unsuccessful Castro assassina-
tion plots. Why the Agency wanted information on Maheu
was never made clear. But Maheu had been fired by
Hughes, an act which had resulted in a bitter court fight.

Bennett’s accessibility to the CIA raised questions in
Baker’s mind concerning possible Agency involvement in,
or knowledge of, his relations with Hunt’s activities in
the White House plumbers. Bennett, for example, helped
arrange a Hunt interview with someone who had claimed
to know something about Ted Kennedy and Chappaquid-
dick. It turned out he knew nothing. Bennett also coor-
dinated the release of a statement by lobbyist Dita Beard

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 271

intended to clear the Nixon administration of any im-
propriety in its dealings with ITT. Hunt had flown to her
hospital bedside in Denver after Bennett learned of her
whereabouts from a Hughes executive. And it was Ben-
nett who reported that a safe in Las Vegas contained ma-
terial which could be of extreme interest to both Hughes
and the CRP. The safe was that of Hank Greenspun, a
newspaper publisher who had aroused the ire of Howard
Hughes. And among the items in the safe reportedly were
memoranda from the billionaire recluse himself. Plans for
a break-in were aborted however, largely because Hughes’s
attorneys said their employer could live without recovery
of the documents. It was Bennett, too, who asked for and
received from Hunt an estimate on what it would cost to
wiretap Clifford Irving, then writing the spurious Hughes
“autobiography.” The Hughes people decided the venture
wasn’t worth the risk.

Bennett was also in on Hunt’s recruitment of a young
student, Tom Gregory, to act as a spy in both the Muskie
and McGovern campaigns. In fact when Gregory had
second thoughts about plans to wiretap the phones at Mc-
Govern’s headquarters, he went to Bennett and told him
he was quitting. This was on June 16, 1972, the day be-
fore the Watergate break-in. Two days after the Watergate
episode, which was before Hunt’s name surfaced in the
press, Bennett talked with Hunt and apparently all but con-
firmed his strong suspicion that his parttime employee was
deeply involved with the burglary. Bennett, according to
Baker, provided “detailed knowledge of the Watergate in-
cident to his CIA case officer” on July 10, 1972, less than
a month after the break-in. The case officer’s report, which
was handwritten, was hand delivered to Director Helms
on or before July 14, 1972; but the information was never
relayed to the FBI which, after all, was investigating the
case.

Immediately after the break-in Bennett began to serve as
liaison between Hunt and Liddy, all the while presumably
reporting to his CIA case officer. Yet none of this was re-
layed to the FBI. In fact Bennett later conceded he had
not been fully responsive while appearing before the grand
jury — a fact that took on added importance when it was
disclosed that the CIA had paid half of his attorney’s fees
when he testified.

272 VICTOR LASKY

Some of the information which Bennett withheld from
the grand jury he transmitted to Edward Bennett Williams,
counsel to the Democratic National Committee which had
filed suit against CRP. Bennett had reported to his case
officer that he had established this “back door entry” to
Williams in order to “kill off* revelations of the CIA’s re-
lationship with the Mullen organization. At the same time
Bennett reported that he was planting phony stories with
the media, specifically Newsweek magazine, which would
lead investigators away from any CIA involvement. He
seemed to take particular relish in fingering Charles Col-
son as being implicated in Hunt’s activities. Bennett also
claimed to have been feeding stories to the Washington
Post's Bob Woodward, who was “suitably grateful” and
was “protecting” Bennett and the Mullen Company.

Obviously the CIA had known plenty of the operations
of the “plumbers” unit at the White House. But what did
the Agency know in advance about the break-in at the
Watergate? In the period between March and May of
1972, according to the Baker report, Hunt contacted the
CIA’s External Employment Assistance Branch for former
Agency personnel who might be willing to become involved
in espionage operations. Hunt was particularly seeking to
hire a “retired lock-picker,” an “entry man,” and other
similarly gifted operatives.

At the same time the Agency was aware that Hunt had
been in contact with one of its Cuban informants, Eugenio
Martinez. A former fulltime employee then on retainer to
the Agency, Martinez had participated in the Hunt-di-
rected break-in of the office of Ellsberg’s former psy-
chiatrist in early September of 1971.

That Martinez discussed his relationship with Hunt with
both his CIA case officer and the Miami chief of station
has been established by Senator Baker’s investigation. In
March 1972 when Hunt began recruiting Cuban exiles for
the Watergate caper, he again made contact with Martinez
in Miami. At that time Martinez somewhat cryptically ad-
vised the CIA station chief that Hunt was employed by
the White House and “asked the Chief of Station if he was
sure that he had been apprised of all Agency activities in
the Miami area.” So concerned was the station chief, he
later testified, that he wrote a letter to CIA headquarters
asking about Hunt’s status. The response from headquar-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 273

ters was that Hunt was on “domestic White House business
of an unknown nature,” and that the station chief should
“cool it.” Why the CIA didn’t show more interest in Hunt’s
doings was later to perplex Baker and his investigators.
The station chief himself was to testify about his astonish-
ment.

Actually, as Baker’s probers discovered, Martinez had
two case officers during 1971 and 1972. The first one, ac-
cording to the CIA, was on “African safari” at the time of
the Watergate break-in, an assertion which raised the eye-
brows of the investigators. But this was contradicted by
the second case officer, who said that his predecessor was
still in Miami on June 19, 1972, two days after the break-in.
And when Baker asked that the first case officer be brought
back for interrogation, the Agency said it couldn’t be done
since he had been reassigned to Indochina. At the same
time the CIA denied the investigators access to the Mar-
tinez case officer reports. In other words the Agency did
everything conceivably possible to prevent a thorough in-
vestigation. Why? That is the question that continues to
haunt Baker, Thompson, and their tiny team of investiga-
tors.

And why did the CIA unloose all its media weapons in a
desperate effort to discredit the Baker investigation? When
the senator first began digging into the CIA’s mysteries, the
question was raised in the press whether Baker was look-
ing for facts or for an alibi for Nixon. And in their syn-
dicated columns, Tom Braden, an old CIA agent himself,
as well as Evans and Novak, both friends of Helms, assailed
Baker for seeking to advance his own political aims even
though his investigation could harm the CIA. When Baker,
under the press of a deadline, finally came up with an
admittedly incomplete report of the CIA’s possible involve-
ment with Watergate, the Washington Post predictably
concluded that the senator had “done a difficult job un-
satisfactorily.”

With former CIA operatives on the Watergate burglar
squad; with a CIA man suddenly turning up at James Mc-
Cord’s home and destroying documents that might link
McCord and the CIA; with Director Helms admitting that
CIA tapes of conversations involving Nixon, Haldeman,
Ehrlichman, and other White House officials were de-
stroyed; with powerful Washington figures including Sen-

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VICTOR LASKY

ator Stuart Symington protecting CIA — was it any wonder
that Senator Baker, in exasperation, declared there were
“animals crashing around in the forest”? Again Chairman
Ervin refused the minority request to include their CIA
findings in the final report of the Watergate Committee.
And he had the support of most of the other senators on
the committee, including Republican Lowell Weicker.
After reading the Baker report, Ervin said he had learned
nothing new about the CIA role. “I think it made some
foolish mistakes,” he said; he was not interested in check-
ing out the extraordinary array of contradictions in testi-
mony elicited by Baker’s men.

Thus the Chairman made sure that the focus remained
resolutely on the main task — “getting” Richard Nixon.

EIGHTEEN

As it turned out, the one person who had absolutely no
advance knowledge of the Watergate break-in was Richard
M. Nixon.

A careful examination of the various tapes that Nixon
was forced to turn over to the Special Watergate Prosecu-
tor demonstrated beyond question that the President didn’t
*have the slightest inkling that a group of “jackasses” — as
he was later to describe them in what he believed to be
the privacy of the Oval Office — was planning the caper
whose unraveling was eventually to lead to his resigna-
tion.

Nixon’s lack of knowledge was made clear, even before
the existence of the White House tapes became known, by
Jeb Stuart Magruder. In his testimony before the Senate
Watergate Committee on June 14, 1973, the former deputy
director of CRP stated: “As far as I know, at no point
during this entire period, from the time of planning the
Watergate to the time of trying to keep it from public
view, did the President have any knowledge of our errors
in this matter. He had confidence in his aides, and I must
confess that some of us failed him.”

This finding was confirmed by an even more credible
authority. Following the Watergate cover-up trial the chief
U.S. prosecutor, James Neal, was asked by Time Corre-
spondent Hays Gorey: “Did Nixon authorize the Water-
gate bugging?”

“No,” replied Neal. “The tapes show some surprise on
Nixon’s part when he was told of the break-in.” And he
gave as an example what he heard on the crucial so-called
smoking gun tape of June 23, 1972. A week after the
break-in at Democratic headquarters, Nixon asked his
chief of staff H. R. (Bob) Haldeman, “Who was the ass-
hole that did it? Was it Liddy?”

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VICTOR LASKY

On February 28, 1973, in a conversation with White
House Counsel John Dean III, the President stated: “Of
course, I am not dumb and I will never forget when I
heard about this (adjective deleted) forced entry and
bugging. I thought, what in the hell is this? What is the
matter with these people? Are they crazy? I thought they
were nuts! A prank! But it wasn’t! It wasn’t very funny. I
think that our Democratic friends know that, too. They
know what the hell it was. They don’t think we’d be in-
volved in such.”

“I think they do too,” Dean said.

“Maybe they don’t. They don’t think I would be in-
volved in such stuff. They think I have people capable of
it. And they are correct, in that Colson would do any-
thing.”

As it turned out, Colson was never officially accused of
having had anything to do with the break-in. He eventual-
ly served time after pleading guilty to a totally unrelated
charge, that he had interfered with justice by conspiring
to “defame” Daniel Ellsberg — as hoked up a charge as ever
came down the pike.

Dean himself strongly disclaimed to the President that
anyone at the White House had any prior knowledge of
the break-in. On the morning of March 21, 1973, the
lawyer observed, “I honestly believe that no one over here
knew that. I know that as God is my maker I had no
knowledge that they were going to do this.”

Still the break-in did occur. But to many Watergate buffs
the big mystery — as yet unexplained — is why the burglary-
chm-bugging was ordered in the first place. The feeling
persists, many years after the event, that no logical motive
for the senseless deed has yet been provided. Perversely
enough Ron Ziegler’s characterization of Watergate as a
“third-rate burglary” remains the only rational explanation.

Actually Watergate isn’t that much of a mystery. The
basic story can be found in the transcripts of the presi-
dential tapes.

On the morning of March 21, 1973, John Dean III en-
tered the Oval Office for a long talk with President Nixon.
An ambitious young protege of Attorney General Mitchell
at the Justice Department, Dean had been named White
House counsel after John Ehrlichman had been named as-
sistant to the President for domestic affairs.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 277

After some chit chat Dean got to the point. “The reason
that I thought we ought to talk this morning is because
in our conversations, I have the impression that you don’t
know everything I know. . . . We have a cancer — within —
close to the presidency, that’s growing. It is growing daily.
It’s compounded, growing geometrically now, because it
compounds itself. . . .

“How did it all start,” Dean went on, “where did it all
start? It started with an instruction to me from Bob Halde-
man to see if we couldn’t set up a perfectly legitimate cam-
paign intelligence operation over at the Re-Election Com-
mittee. Not being in this business, I turned to somebody
who had been in this business, Jack Caulfield. I don’t re-
member whether you remember Jack or not. He was your
original bodyguard before they had the candidate protec-
tion, an old city policeman.”

The President remembered Caulfield. A former New
York City police officer, Caulfield’s official job at the White
House was to act as liaison with various law enforcement
agencies. His immediate superior, at the beginning, was
Ehrlichman. He was then transferred over to Dean.

At Dean’s suggestion Caulfield came up with a plan to
gather intelligence about the political opposition. Dean told
the President that he had taken the plan to both Ehrlich-
man and Mitchell, “and the consensus was that Caulfield
was not the man to do this. In retrospect, that might have
been a bad call because he is an incredibly cautious person
and wouldn’t have put the situation where it is today.”

In retrospect too, dumping the “incredibly cautious”
Caulfield may well have been the first major blunder of the
Watergate affair. For, under pressure to find someone else
to take over the intelligence assignment. Dean came up with
G. Gordon Liddy. First off, as Dean told the President,
Liddy was a lawyer. Then, because of his FBI background,
he “had an intelligence background.” Moreover Dean was
aware that “he had done some extremely sensitive things
for the White House . . . and he had apparently done them
well.”

Among other things Liddy had “worked with leaks,”
tracking them down, said Dean. Egil Krogh, who had
headed the plumbers, had reported that “he was a hell of a
good man . . . and could set up a proper operation,” ac-
cording to Dean.

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VICTOR LASKY

After he was hired by the CRP, Liddy was asked to put
together a plan to gather intelligence about the political
opposition. In January 1972 Magruder called Dean to at-
tend a meeting at Mitchell’s office in order to listen to
Liddy explain his plan.

At first, Dean told the President, he was reticent about
going. “I said I don’t really know if I am the man, but if
you want me there I will be happy to. So I came over and
Liddy laid out a million dollar plan that was the most in-
credible thing I have ever laid my eyes on: all in codes,
and involved black bag operations, kidnapping, providing
prostitutes to weaken the opposition, bugging, mugging
teams. It was an incredible thing.”

“Tell me this,” the President interrupted, “did Mitchell
go along — ?”

“No, no, not at all. Mitchell just sat there puffing and
laughing. I could tell from — after Liddy left the office I
said that is the most incredible thing I have ever seen. He
said, ‘I agree.’ And so Liddy was told to go back to the
drawing board and come up with something realistic. So
there was a second meeting. They asked me to come over
to that. I came into the tail end of the meeting. I wasn’t
there for the first part.”

When he arrived. Dean discovered that they were dis-
cussing bugging, kidnapping, and the like. Dean was
alarmed. He broke in and said, “These are not the sort
of things that are ever to be discussed in the office of the
Attorney General of the United States . . . and I am per-
sonally incensed.”

Dean told the President he had been “trying to get
Mitchell off the hook. He is a nice person and doesn’t like
to have to say no when he is talking with people he is go-
ing to have to work with.”

“That’s right,” the President said.

“So I let it be known. I said, ‘You all pack that stuff
up and get it the hell out of here. You just can’t talk this
way in this office and you should re-examine your whole
thinking.’ ”

“Who all was present?” the President asked.

“It was Magruder, Mitchell, Liddy and myself. I came
back right after the meeting and told Bob [Haldeman],
‘Bob, we have a growing disaster on our hands if they
are thinking this way,’ and I said, ‘The White House has

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 279

got to stay out of this and I, frankly, am not going to be
involved in it.’ Bob said, ‘I agree, John.’ ”

At this point, Dean told the President, he thought the
plan had been “turned off because it was an absurd pro-
posal.” And while he had some other dealings with Liddy,
they never discussed the matter again. “Now that would
be hard to believe for some people, but we never did. That
is the fact of the matter.”

At any rate, Dean continued, from what he was later
able to learn by putting the pieces together, Liddy returned
to his CRP office “and tried to come up with another plan
that he could sell. They were telling him that he was
putting too much money in it. I don’t think they were
discounting the illegal points. Jeb is not a lawyer. He did
not know whether this is the way the game was played
and what it was all about. They came up, apparently, with
another plan, but they couldn’t get it approved by any-
body over there. So Liddy and Hunt apparently came to see
Chuck Colson, and Colson picked up the telephone and
called Magruder and said, ‘You all either fish or cut bait.
This is absurd to have these guys over there and not using
them. If you are not going to use them, I may use them.*
Things of this nature.”

“When was this?” the President asked.

“This was apparently in February of seventy-two.”

“Did Colson know what they were talking about?”

“I can only assume, because of his close relationship
with Hunt, that he had a damn good idea what they were
talking about, a damn good idea. He would probably deny
it today. . .

Did Dean think that Colson was “the person who
pushed,” the President asked.

“I think he helped to get the thing off the dime. Now
something else occurred though — ”

Had Colson talked to anyone at the White House?

“No, I think this was — ”

“Did he talk with Haldeman?”

“No, I don’t think so. But there is the next thing that
comes in the chain. I think Bob was assuming that they

* Colson did deny it. Though he did make the phone call in ques-
tion, he later said he did not believe that the Hunt-Liddy scheme
involved illegalities.

280

VICTOR LASKY

had something that was proper over there, some in-
telligence gathering operation that Liddy was operating.
And [Gordon] Strachan, who was [Haldeman’s] tickler,
started pushing them to get some information and they —
Magruder — took that as a signal to probably go to Mitchell
and to say, ‘They are pushing us like crazy for this from
the White House.*”

“And so,” Dean continued, almost without catching his
breath, “Mitchell probably puffed on his pipe and said, ‘Go
ahead,* and never really reflected on what it was all about.
So they had some plan that obviously had, I gather, some
different targets. . . . They were going to infiltrate, and
bug, and do all this sort of thing to a lot of these targets.
This is knowledge I have after the fact. Apparently after
they had initially broken in and bugged the DNC, they
were getting information. The information was coming
over here to Strachan and some of it was given to Halde-
man, there is no doubt about it.”

“Did (Haldeman) know where it was coming from?”
the President interjected.

“I don’t really know if he would,” Dean replied^

“Not necessarily?”

“Not necessarily. Strachan knew it. There is no doubt
about it, and whether Strachan — I have never come to
press these people on these points because it hurts them to
give that next inch, so I had to piece things together.
Strachan was aware of receiving information, reporting to
Bob. At one point Bob even gave instructions to change
their capabilities from Muskie to McGovern, and passed
this back through Strachan to Magruder and apparently to
Liddy. And Liddy was starting to make arrangements to
go in and bug the McGovern operation.”

“They had never bugged Muskie, though, did they?”

“No, they hadn’t, but they had infiltrated it by a secre-
tary.”

“By a secretary?”

“By a secretary and a chauffeur. There is nothing illegal
about that. So the information was coming over here and
then I, finally, after — . The next point in time that I be-
came aware of anything was on June seventeenth when I
got the word that there had been this break-in at the DNC
and somebody from our Committee had been caught in the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 281

DNC. And I said, ‘Oh (expletive deleted).* You know,
eventually putting the pieces together — ”

“You knew what it was.”

“I knew who it was. So I called Liddy on Monday morn-
ing and said, ‘First, Gordon, I want to know whether any-
body in the White House was involved in this.’ And he
said, ‘No, they weren’t.’ I said, ‘Well I want to know how
in (adjective deleted) name this happened.’ He said, ‘Well,
I was pushed without mercy by Magruder to get in there
and to get more information. That the information was not
satisfactory. That Magruder said, “The White House is not
happy with what we are getting.” '

“The White House?”

“The White House. Yeah!”

“Who,” the President asked, “do you think was pushing
him?”

“Well, I think it was probably Strachan thinking that
Bob wanted things, because I have seen that happen on
other occasions where things have been said to have been
of very prime importance when they really weren’t.”

“Why at that point in time I wonder?” the President
asked. “I am just trying to think. We had just finished the
Moscow trip. The Democrats had just nominated Mc-
Govern.* I mean, (expletive deleted), what in the hell
were these people doing? I can see their doing it earlier. I
can see the presures, but I don’t see why all the pressure
was on then.”

“I don’t know, other than the fact that they might have
been looking for information about the conventions.”

“That’s right.”

“Because, I understand that after the fact that there
was a plan to bug Larry O’Brien’s suite down in Florida.
So Liddy told me that this is what had happened and this
is why it had happened.”

“Where did he learn that there were plans to bug Larry
O’Brien’s suite?”

“From Magruder, long after the fact.”

“Magruder is (unintelligible).”

♦Nixon’s time sequence was confused; actually George McGovern
was nominated as the Democratic candidate for President a month
later in Miami Beach.

282

VICTOR LASKY

“Yeah. Magruder is totally knowledgeable on the whole
thing. ... I know that Magruder has perjured himself in
the Grand Jury. I know that [Herbert] Porter has per-
jured himself in the Grand Jury.”

“Who is Porter?”

“He is one of Magruder’s deputies. They set up this
scenario which they ran by me. They said, ‘How about
this?’ I said, ‘I don’t know. If this is what you are going
to hang on, fine.’ ”

“What did they say in the Grand Jury?”

“They said . . . that Liddy had come over as Counsel
and we knew he had these capacities to do legitimate in-
telligence. We had no idea what he was doing. He was
given an authorization of $250,000 to collect information,
because our surrogates were out on the road. They had no
protection, and we had information that there were going
to be demonstrations against them, and that we had to
have a plan as to what they were going to be confronted
with and Liddy was charged with doing this. We had
no knowledge that he was going to bug the DNC.”

“The point is, that is not true?”

“That’s right.”

“Magruder did know it was going to take place.”
“Magruder gave the instructions to be back in the
DNC.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I see. O.K.”

“I honestly believe that no one over here knew that,”
said Dean. “I know that as God is my maker, I had no
knowledge that they were going to do this.”

From Dean’s account to the President it becomes ob-
vious that the break-in, at the very least, was not carefully
conceived. If anything, it was largely the brainchild of G.
Gordon Liddy. A flamboyant character, Liddy had been an
FBI agent in the early 1960s, then an assistant district at-
torney in New York’s Dutchess County. In 1968 Liddy
had run unsuccessfully for the Republican nomination in
what was then New York’s 28th Congressional District.
Congressman Hamilton Fish, Jr., the man who beat him,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 283

recommended Liddy for a job with the Nixon administra-
tion.

His first job was at the Treasury Department, where he
aroused the ire of his superiors for his unabashed op-
position — publicly — to gun-control legislation. From there
he kept getting tossed around like a hot potato. For a time
he worked with Bud Krogh at the White House on drug-
related projects, then with the plumbers. Then he was sent
over to CRP as general counsel. Within four months he
moved over to the finance committee as counsel. Stories
of his eccentricities abounded, but no one had quite the
guts to fire him.

Magruder, for example, couldn’t whip up enough cour-
age to get rid of him. In his Senate testimony he told of
meeting Liddy in a hallway.

“I simply put my hand on Mr. Liddy’s shoulder and he
asked me to remove it and indicated that if I did not
serious consequences would occur,” Magruder testified.

“Was he more specific than serious consequences?”

“Well, he indicated he would kill me.”

Fear of Liddy and his seeming penchant for violence, in
the final analysis, may well have been the reason why his
colleagues gave him leeway in carrying out some of his
crackpot schemes. And to assist him in gathering in-
telligence, Liddy hired a former CIA agent named E.
Howard Hunt on a parttime basis. They had worked to-
gether on several plumbers assignments, including the effort
to obtain defamatory material on Ellsberg. And they got
along quite well.

By this time Hunt was also working for the Mullen
Company, the public relations firm with CIA ties. In fact
Hunt had made the connection as a result of an intervention
by Richard Helms. Bob Mullen, the founder of the firm,
later said that the CIA director had “twisted my arm”
to give Hunt a job. Hunt had retired from the CIA a day
before.

When Robert Bennett later joined the Mullen firm, he
brought with him a choice public relations account. He
had been named Howard Hughes’s Washington represen-
tative, succeeding Larry O’Brien, who had been on the
Hughes payroll for a fee of $15,000 a month. In all
O’Brien served the multimillionaire recluse for sixteen

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VICTOR LASKY

months. For eleven of those months O’Brien also served
as chairman of the Democratic National Committee. As
Ron Rosenbaum noted in The Village Voice:

It might be unfair to call O’Brien a high-level fixer for
Hughes, but with Democratic majorities in both
Houses of Congress and on most of the federal
regulatory agencies it probably didn’t do Hughes any
harm to have the Democratic National Chairman on
the payroll. O’Brien never denied or attempted to
cover up the fact that he was working for Howard
Hughes, but he certainly didn’t publicize the relation-
ship very strenuously and he never revealed how much
he was getting paid. In eleven months of serving two
masters, O’Brien received $165,000 from Howard
Hughes. While there may be no violation of the law
in such conduct, consider the outcry if, for instance,
it were revealed that Republican National Chairman
George Bush was receiving a $500 per day salary
from Exxon.

While O’Brien never denied his Hughes connection, very
few people in his own party knew about it. And exactly
what he did for all that bread was never officially dis-
closed. There were reports that he had tried to help arrange
an out-of-court settlement of the Hughes-TWA lawsuit.
And there was some talk of his publicizing the “humanitar-
ian efforts” of the Hughes Medical Foundation. But his
efforts did not appear to be overly successful.

At any rate it was at Hughes’s personal instructions that
O’Brien had been hired. The recruiting was done by the
multimillionaire’s chief lieutenant Robert Maheu. Hughes
had gotten interested in O’Brien following Robert F. Ken-
nedy’s assassination. O’Brien had served as campaign man-
ager in Bobby’s tragically aborted run for the presidential
nomination. Hughes wrote this memo to Maheu, “What is
O’Brien going to do? Why don’t we get hold of him?”

Eventually they got hold of him.

The point is that Hughes didn’t give a damn about a
man’s politics — whether he be Democrat or Republican,
liberal or conservative. All that mattered was how much
good that individual could do for Hughes. Thus he fre-
quently financed Democrats and Republicans seeking the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 285

same office, but always tailoring his contribution to a
candidate’s chances of winning, giving more heavily to the
front runner. In 1968, for example, Hughes transmitted
$25,000 to Robert Kennedy for his presidential primary
battles. Later he contributed to both Humphrey and Nixon,
who were contesting each other for the presidency.

After the 1968 election when Congress was considering
legislation affecting tax-exempt organizations such as the
Howard Hughes Medical Institute, Hughes hired the
Washington law firm of Clifford, Warnke, Glass, Mcllwain
& Finney, whose partners included longtime advisers to
Democratic presidents — former Defense Secretary Clark
Clifford among them. And eight years before, at the start
of the Kennedy administration, when Hughes was contest-
ing TWA’s directors for control of the airline, he sent Bob
Maheu to meet with Lyndon Johnson about the problem.
The Vice President suggested the hiring of the firm of
Arnold, Fortas & Porter, of which LBJ’s longtime friend
and associate Abe Fortas was then a senior partner. This
Hughes did.

O’Brien’s profitable arrangement with Hughes was ter-
minated in early 1971 when the multimillionaire had a
falling out with Maheu, sparking a bitter court fight.
That’s when Bennett entered the picture. And that’s when
Bennett began using Hunt in connection with the all-im-
portant Hughes account. Thus, according to Hunt, he was
informed by Bennett of being approached by “the Hughes
people” about the possibility of bugging Clifford Irving’s
home. And it was Bennett who suggested that there were
documents in the safe of Las Vegas publisher Hank Green-
spun which could be of decided interest to both “the
Hughes people” and the CRP.

Already in place was the burglary team which had pre-
viously broken into the offices of the Ellsberg psychiatrist.
And Hunt, who had directed that bungled caper, was not
adverse to using the team in behalf of what he perceived
to be the interests of Howard Hughes. In fact Hunt con-
ceived of a combined operation, involving the entry team
and the Hughes people, aimed at cracking into the Green-
spun safe. What Hunt wanted from the Hughes organiza-
tion was a getaway plane to fly the team to a Central
American country.

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VICTOR LASKY

• “Gee,” a Hughes man recalled asking Hunt, “suppose
you get caught?”

“We’re professionals,” replied Hunt. “Don’t worry about
that.”

The Hughes people rejected the proposal. But they were
most decidedly interested in what Maheu was up to, par-
ticularly his relations with Larry O’Brien.

Which may well provide the answer to the still-recurring
question as to why the Watergate burglars sought to wire-
tap O’Brien. Hunt thus had hit upon the seemingly brilliant
idea of combining public and private service. By supposedly
obtaining political ammunition aimed at the Democrats, he
would also be serving the interests of “the Hughes people.”

O’Brien at the time headed a party that was $9 million
in debt and whose membership was so divided that he
could not lure all its representatives to the same dinner
table. As he later observed, “The Democrats didn’t seem
to think much of me; but to the Republicans, I was a
giant.”

An equally tantalizing question is why the phone of R.
Spencer Oliver, Jr., was selected for tapping. Comparatively
unknown in the political world, Oliver was the youthful
executive director of the Association of Democratic State
Chairmen, a post which did not involve much crucial de-
cisionmaking. But by coincidence Oliver’s father, Robert
Oliver, was an account executive at the Mullen company.
In fact Bennett had placed him in day-to-day charge of the
firm’s most important account — that of the Hughes Tool
Company. There had even been discussions at one point
about young Oliver buying into the Mullen firm. And it
was known that Hunt was not too happy about the idea of
having a liberal Democrat around the premises.

As it turned out, the Oliver tap was the only one that
functioned following the first Watergate break-in. The O’-
Brien tap had failed to work. But the material garnered
from the Oliver tap was considered “garbage” by those
who, like Jeb Magruder, perused it. As John Ehrlichman
was later to testify, “They learned a great deal more about
Mr. Oliver than anybody really wanted to know.”

From the very beginning Watergate had more the ele-
ments of high farce than great tragedy. A group of bunglers
had been turned loose to gather political intelligence and,
needless to say, they did everything wrong. Probably con-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 287

tributing the most to the botched-up caper was James W.
McCord, Jr., who had taken over as the CRP’s fulltime
security chief on January 1, 1972. He had been recom-
mended for the job by Jack Caulfield and A1 Wong, an old
friend who was then deputy assistant director of the Secret
Service. (One of Wong’s assignments was the installation
of the taping system at the White House.)

McCord’s credentials seemed impressive. He had spent
twenty-five years in government service, seventeen of them
with the CIA. When he retired from the Agency in August
1970, he was presented with a distinguished service award
for outstanding performance of duty by none other than
Director Helms himself. McCord then organized his own
security consulting business, McCord Associates, Inc., in
Rockville, Maryland. But business wasn’t too good. Offered
the CRP job, McCord grabbed it. In fact McCord’s busi-
ness “would have peen hopelessly in debt,** said Earl Sil-
bert, the head of the original Watergate prosecution team,
if he had not received three $10,000 checks in the spring
of 1972, “presumably money for the Watergate operation.”

Before long McCord had become acquainted with Liddy.
They had something in common. Both had been FBI agents,
and Liddy enjoyed telling “war stories” about his days in
the Bureau. Before long, too, Liddy and McCord began
discussing the problem of political violence. Liddy told
McCord that the White House was concerned that the
radicals might seek to duplicate the bloody events of the
1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago at the forthcom-
ing Republican Convention. Several violence-oriented
groups had already publicized their plans to disrupt the
convention, then scheduled for San Diego. (The convention
site eventually was transferred to Miami Beach, where
security could be more effectively implemented.)

Of more immediate concern were the threats of violence
being directed at Republican headquarters around the
country. One weekend in February 1972, for example,
there were demonstrations in Manchester, New Hampshire,
against the opening of CRP offices. A few days later Mc-
Cord learned that four “pipe bombs” had been found near
Manchester’s police and fire departments. One of the bombs
had exploded, mangling the arm of a young man involved
in planting them. A young woman, apprehended as she was
fleeing the scene, was found to be carrying letters addressed

288 VICTOR LASKY

to New Hampshire newspapers stating that “we have
bombed the offices of the Committee to Re-Elect the
President.” A search of her apartment revealed still more
parts of pipe bombs.

Other bomb incidents were reported to McCord, in-
cluding one explosion on the ground floor of the Alameda
County Republican Headquarters in Oakland, California.
At the same time plans were announced for a massive
antiwar demonstration in Washington. According , to Mc-
Cord, the most militant of the groups, at least in its
rhetoric, appeared to be the Vietnam Veterans Against the
War (WAW). “I had no issue to take with them on their
plans to demonstrate; it was the matter of violence they
propounded against the Republican efforts, especially at the
convention site, which held my interest. My job was that of
protecting lives and property against violence. Property
could be restored. Lives could not.”

“Liddy’s job,” McCord went on, “was intelligence-
gathering regarding such groups’ plans. Mine was the se-
curity of our own personnel. . . . Early in his campaign,
McGovern’s political base appeared to include an element
of the groups talking disruption or violence. We were to
receive some reports in May 1972 that the WAW and
McGovern’s headquarters had linked forces in a West Coast
college barn-storming tour, in a station wagon leased by
the staff of McGovern headquarters. The party on the barn-
storming tour reportedly included three VV AW personnel
and one of McGovern’s staffers as a driver. Did collusion
exist between McGovern headquarters, Democratic Nation-
al Committee headquarters and such anti-war groups?
This was one of the questions uppermost in my mind.”

At any rate the decision was made to break into DNC
headquarters. On or about April 1, 1972, Liddy called Mc-
Cord and announced, “The operation has been approved.”
He said he was going across the street to meet with Hunt
at the Mullen offices. Hunt was being brought into the
picture because he had a “team” of men with whom he
had worked before; and McCord had the feeling that Liddy
knew the men. On April 12, Liddy handed McCord a
manila envelope containing $65,000 in $100 bills and
said, “Get the equipment as quickly as you can.” Which
McCord proceeded to do, arousing suspicions wherever he
went.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 289

Meanwhile the team was being assembled. McCord had
hired a former FBI agent named Alfred Baldwin to act as
a bodyguard for Martha Mitchell. He had found Baldwin’s
name in the register of the Society of Former Special
Agents of the FBI. But Mrs. Mitchell didn’t like him. And
McCord told Baldwin he had other work in mind for him.
That work, of course, involved monitoring the tapped
phones at the DNC.

The rest of the team was brought in by Hunt. Except for
Frank Sturgis, they consisted of Cuban-Americans with a
passionate hatred of Castro. All of them had been veterans
of the Bay of Pigs, several had participated in the Ellsberg
venture, and some still maintained CIA ties. Their mission
was to find evidence proving that the Democrats were re-
ceiving covert funds from Castro or from leftist, violence-
prone organizations.

There were, of course, two break-ins at the DNC. The
first took several nights to complete. From the beginning
it was obvious — in the words of Eugenio Martinez — that
“there wasn’t adequate operational preparation. There was
no floor plan of the building; no one knew the disposition
of the elevators, how many guards there were, or even
what time the guards checked the building. Gonzales did
not know what kind of door he was supposed to open.
There weren’t even any contingency plans.”

One immediate result of this lack of preparation was the
inability of Virgilio Gonzalez, the locksmith, to open the
DNC door on the sixth floor of the Watergate Office Build-
ing. And all the time he was working on the door, Mc-
Cord — who had led the group into the building — would be
going to the eighth floor. “It is still a mystery to me what
he was doing there,” Martinez later wrote in Harper’s.
“At 2:00 a.m. I went up to tell him about our problems,
and there I saw him talking to two guards. What happened?
I thought. Have we been caught? No, he knew the guards.
So I did not ask questions, but I thought McCord was
working there. It was the only thing that made sense. He
was the one who led us to the place and it would not
have made sense for us to have rooms at the Watergate
and go on this operation if there was not someone there
on the inside. Anyway, I joined the group, and pretty soon
we picked up our briefcases and walked out the front
door.”

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VICTOR LASKY

Hunt was furious. He insisted that Gonzalez return to
Miami in order to obtain the proper tools. So, with prac-
tically no sleep, the locksmith flew South. He came back
on Sunday afternoon, May 27, 1972. And early the next
morning a successful entry was made. While McCord in-
stalled the phone taps, the others were busy photographing
what they believed to be records of contributions. As
Martinez wrote, “I had hopes that we might have done
something valuable. We all had heard rumors in Miami
that McGovern was receiving money from Castro. That
was nothing new. We believe that today.”

As it turned out, the fruits of the break-in which were
turned over to Magruder were worthless. The photo-
graphed documents included unpaid bills owed by the
Democrats. And the transcripts of the wiretapped con-
versations told a great deal about the social lives of the
members of the DNC staff, but little of political conse-
quence. Liddy was told the stuff wasn’t worth the paper
it was printed on. The problem was, Liddy lamely ex-
plained, that “one of the bugs isn’t working. And they put
one of them on O’Brien’s secretary’s phone instead of
O’Brien’s phone. But I’ll get everything straightened out
right away.”

McCord had fouled up on his assignment. Despite this,
he insisted he could repair the damage. A new entry was

planned.

The rest is well-told history. The Watergate burglars
were discovered when a night watchman, Frank Wills,
while making his rounds, found tape over the lock on the
garage door. Thinking the tape had been left by the
maintenance crew, Wills removed it and then went across
the street to Howard Johnson’s for a cup of coffee. Back on
his rounds, the guard discovered that the door had been
retaped. He then called the police.

A year later four of the Miamians who were apprehended
the night of June 17, 1972, were interviewed at the federal
penitenitary in Danbury, Connecticut, by Senator Weicker.
Two of the four, according to the notes taken by the
senator, expressed considerable suspicion of their convicted
fellow conspirator James McCord, suggesting at least by
implication that he may have been a double agent who had
deliberately led them into a trap.

According to the notes, which were not verbatim, Eu-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 291

genio Martinez told the senator “that when they made their
entry, they were in all right, but because McCord was
late, they had to put tape on the door the second time.
And when he finally joined them, they asked him whether
he had removed the tapes when he came up and he said
he had. But the fact of the matter is, he hadn’t, and that’s
what led to their getting caught.”

Another of the convicted conspirators, Sturgis, “presented
a series of facts concerning McCord’s involvement which
he implied certainly cast some question on whether or not
McCord had a different role than the one they thought he
did,” the notes said.

“For example,” said Sturgis, “McCord got us equipment
that didn’t work, Baldwin was stationed across the street
but when the police were searching the building, the men
inside had not been warned and tipped off. McCord came
late to the rendezvous and not only came late but told
them he had taken the tape off the door when it turned out
he had not.”

McCord also instructed Barker to turn off his walkie-
talkie, thus cutting off communications with Baldwin, who
was stationed at Howard Johnson’s across the street. As a
result Baldwin was unable to warn his cohorts when the
police arrived.

And as Sturgis noted, “It’s also strange that three police-
men . were cruising in that very area, three policemen in
plain clothes. McCord was the first one after [the arrests]
to open up and spill the beans. And yet . . . McCord was
the one who had ordered (us) not to talk.”

All four prisoners (the others were Bernard Barker and
Virgilio Gonzalez) agreed that from the very beginning the
break-ins were marked by incredible bungling. According
to the notes, Martinez told Weicker that, “had they not
been caught he had already made up his mind that he
would not do any more missions for this group (of) highly
unprofessional bunglers.”

Martinez, the notes added, “said he was totally disgusted
with all of this and very puzzled. He couldn’t understand the
amateurism and the sloppiness and was very concerned
about it. But he said he kept being reassured that they
knew what they were doing, that they were the experts,
that they were the leaders and that they knew what they
were doing.”

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VICTOR LASKY

There is one other puzzling piece of information about
McCord. That had to do with his relationship with Louis
Russell, a former congressional investigator down on his
luck. For a time Russell had been employed by the General
Security Services, which provided the guards for the Water-
gate Office Building. And despite his outspoken dislike of
Nixon, Russell had been placed on the payroll by McCord
as a night watchman for the President’s reelection commit-
tee, a job terminated following McCord’s arrest. But most
interesting was the fact that on the night of the second
break-in, Russell had had dinner at the Howard Johnson’s
just across the street from Watergate. Later he told in-
vestigators that he had dined there for “sentimental rea-
sons”; he once had a girlfriend who worked nearby.

McCord’s conduct following his arrest was even more
bizarre. Not only did he vehemently deny CIA responsi-
bility for Watergate, but he threatened to expose White
House involvement if any effort were made to blame “the
company.” Yet it was McCord who, immediately upon his
apprehension, told one of the arresting officers that all the
men being picked up were former CIA employees. Later
McCord charged that his lawyer Gerald Alch had suggested
that in his defense he should claim Watergate was a CIA
operation. He said that Alch claimed he could arrange to
have McCord’s records appropriately doctored to show that
McCord was still in the CIA’s employ at the time of the
break-in. Alch, he claimed, had stated he could get the in-
coming CIA director James Schlesinger to handle the mat-
ter. But Alch, an outstanding Boston lawyer of unblemished
reputation, flatly and vigorously denied the allegations un-
der oath while testifying before the Ervin Committee. In
other words he called McCord a liar. And to prove the
point he suggested that both he and McCord be given
polygraph tests.

But this did not meet with the approval of Sam Ervin,
who launched into a discourse on the inadmissibility of lie-
detector tests as evidence. It was just as likely, however,
that the senator wanted to dispose of Alch as quickly as
possible. An effective witness, the Bostonian had completely
shredded McCord’s highly publicized testimony. Alch
meanwhile went ahead on his own and took a polygraph
examination. He sent the results, which, he felt, proved his

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 293

point, to Ervin. But the solon from North Carolina never
recalled McCord for further testimony.

Previously McCord had obtained additional counsel,
Bernard Fensterwald, who had been introduced to McCord
by Lou Russell. Almost immediately he offered to help
raise the money for McCord’s bail. And, according to Alch,
Fensterwald did indeed raise $40,000 of the required
$100,000. Mrs. McCord got the rest. Though it seemed
strange that Fensterwald would be doing this for someone
he hardly knew, Alch said, “I was not about to look a
gift horse in the mouth.”

Alch did work with Fensterwald in McCord’s behalf for
a short period. And Alch testified that Fensterwald had
once told him in a telephone conversation, “We’re going
after the President of the United States.”

When Alch retorted that he was not interested “in any
vendettas against the President, but only in the best in-
terest of my client,” Fensterwald was quoted as saying,
“Well, you’ll see; that’s who we’re going after — the Presi-
dent.”

Demonstrating his extreme partisanship, Ervin refused
to get to the bottom of the argument between Alch and
McCord. It may well have been that the Tarheel senator
was of the opinion that his committee should begin to
concentrate on the main issues. Nevertheless Ervin per-
mitted the record to be cluttered with all kinds of other
statements which would never have been permitted in any
court of law.

Of considerable interest, however, was the role played by
Fensterwald. Senator Baker, the ranking Republican,
agreed that all parties to the dispute — Alch, McCord, and
Fensterwald — be given lie-detector tests. Baker observed .
that the results would be at least as informative as the
extraordinary amount of hearsay evidence cluttering the
record. But Ervin said he was not interested in any such
“twentieth century witchcraft.”

Still there were other questions which were' never re-
solved. Just exactly when did Fensterwald become involved
with McCord? Why did he help raise the princely sum of
$40,000 in bail funds to get McCord out of jail? Where
did he get the funds?

And who exactly was Fensterwald? Around Washington

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VICTOR LASKY

he was known as an eccentric lawyer, whose main hobby
had been to promote further investigations into the assassi-
nations of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King. In
fact he set up a special committee aimed at discovering the
“truth” about the two tragedies. And while he had denied
the statements attributed to him by Alch, he has since
publicly conceded that as a longtime Democrat he had an
interest in going after President Nixon.

But that would have been a question that could well
have been asked of him by the Ervin Committee — if it had
been truly interested in looking into all the ramifications of
Watergate. And the committee could also have checked
into a New York Times story which impeached Fenster-
wald’s credibility in another area. According to investiga-
tive reporter Denny Walsh, Fensterw&ld “made false state-
ments and false implications during his questioning of a key
witness while serving as counsel to a Senate subcommittee
investigating electronic snooping in the mid-nineteen six-
ties. . . Sources close to that investigation quoted Fenster-
wald as having asked government agents for “sexy and sen-
sational” material for use in public hearings. He also told
the agents he was seeking evidence “with some publicity
value.”

Except for the Times , no other newspaper — not even the
Washington Post always searching for new Watergate an-
gles — unloosed investigatory resources on Fensterwald’s
controversial background. Likewise the networks kept
hands off.

But that shouldn’t have prevented the Ervin Committee
from spending some time on the matter. After all what
was at stake was the people’s right to know all the facts —
even those which may have cast discredit on anti-Nixon
witnesses.

NINETEEN

As Watergate began to unravel in the spring of 1973, com-
mencement speakers had a field day deploring the scandal.
And W. Allen Wallis, chancellor of the University of
Rochester, was no exception. Addressing the graduating
class at Roberts Wesleyan College, Wallis said that he
agreed with other speakers across the nation that “Water-
gate is deplorable, disgraceful, immoral, shocking, inex-
cusable, alarming, reprehensible, and quite a few other
things besides, none of them nice.”

“But,” he went on, “the saddest thing about Watergate
is that in important respects it is far from unique, or even
unusual. It is another of those many instances in which
the end is regarded as justifying the means. One thing dif-
ferent about Watergate, however, is that the end is not ac-
ceptable to the academic-journalistic complex, as were the
ends pursued by Daniel Ellsberg, the Berrigan brothers,
the anti-war rioters, the Black Panthers, and innumerable
others stretching back to the sit-in strikers of the 1930’s.”

According to Wallis, “the perpetrators of Watergate ap-
pear to be men of good character by their own lights, who
put conscience and patriotism above civil law. In that re-
gard, they are exactly like Daniel Ellsberg. Yet the press,
the ministers, and the politicians who condemn the Water-
gate convicts praise Ellsberg, the Berrigans, and others
who have used comparable means for different ends. . . .

“This is why I said earlier that the reaction by journalists
and politicians to the Watergate break-in has been morally
even more corrupt than the Watergate activities them-
selves.”

In the final analysis Watergate was largely a media event
— the most spectacular in the history of American journal-
ism. The break-in itself was chiefly the result of a com-
bination of poor judgment and innocuous stupidity on the

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VICTOR LASKY

part of the perpetrators. Yet the episode was blown up
through incessant publicity, and an inane caper was trans-
formed into “the crime of the century.” And though not to
be condoned, the so-called cover-up and obstruction of
justice constituted a natural human reaction rather than
the heinous crime trumpeted by a largely liberal media.

Similar, if not far worse, crimes had been committed in
previous administrations, but the lack of interest in them
on the part of the media was notorious. Had the Watergate
break-in taken place during the Kennedy administration,
for example, it is safe to say that the matter, while perhaps
duly noted, would have been forgotten quickly. As so many
other Kennedy abuses of power were.

The main reason for the double standard was JFK’s
popularity with the press corps. Kennedy had spent an in-
ordinate amount of time catering to influential columnists,
correspondents, and broadcast personalities. Many of them,
like Ben Bradlee, were close personal friends. In their eyes,
“Jack” could do no wrong. And if he did wrong, they
rarely got emotional about it.

Nixon, on the other hand, was much more wary of the
press. He did not go out of his way to cultivate corre-
spondents and columnists. Generally he felt uneasy around
them. All through his long, controversial career in politics,
he felt that the major news media was out to “get” him.

Not that he was entirely wrong. As the late Stewart
Alsop once pointed out, “The notion that Mr. Nixon is a
sort of monster has been almost an article of faith” among
liberal journalists. The surprise in their ranks generated by
Nixon’s approach to the People’s Republic of China was
due to a preconceived and mistaken notion that he was a
doctrinaire whose administration would be devoid of new
approaches.

Nixon himself has long believed that the hostility of
the liberal media toward him began early in his political
career when he took the lead in exposing Alger Hiss. A
former State Department official. Hiss had been accused
by Whittaker Chambers of having been a member of an
underground Communist group in the nation’s capital.
Nixon, then thirty-five years of age and a member of the
House Committee on Un-American Activities, pressed
hard to determine the truth. Eventually Hiss was prose-
cuted by the Justice Department under President Truman

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 297

and was convicted on a perjury charge when he denied
having slipped confidential U.S. government material to an
admitted spy courier. And, though the Hiss case made
Nixon a household word, he also became a marked man
among liberals, many of whom swore they would never
forgive his “witch-hunting.”

Nixon discussed the climate of opinion generated by the
Hiss case in his book Six Crises , which was published in
1962. “Hiss,” he wrote,

was clearly the symbol of a considerable number of
perfectly loyal citizens whose theaters of operation
are the nation’s mass media and universities, its schol-
arly foundations, and its government bureaucracies

They are not Communists (but) they are of a mind-
set as doctrinaire as those on the extreme right. ... As
soon as the Hiss case broke and well before a full bill
of particulars was even available, much less open to
close critical analysis, they leaped to the defense of
Alger Hiss — and to a counter attack of unparalleled
venom and irrational fury on his accusers.

Nixon next faced what he termed “the overwhelming-
ly hostile reaction of the press” when he ran for Vice
President in 1952. The issue was a so-called secret fund
which had been raised by his supporters to help him pay
the costs of political activities — postage, travel expenses,
and the like — during his term as a senator. In all $18,000
was involved. The New York Post was first to break the
story. Its front page on September 18 was dominated with
the big, black words: secret nixon fundI The story itself
was given on page two, under the headline: secret rich

MEN’S TRUST FUND KEEPS NIXON IN STYLE BEYOND HIS

salary. As it turned out, the story was an exaggerated
version of the facts. There was nothing “secret” about the
fund. Other politicians, including the Post ' s candidate for
President, Adlai Stevenson, had made similar arrange-
ments.

Years later such funds were specifically approved in the
code of rules and ethics adopted by the U.S. Senate. And
when the post-Watergate Federal Election Commission
sought to regulate these privately funded “office accounts,”
the Senate by a close vote on October 8, 1975, said no.

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Such accounts are funded by leftover campaign donations
as well as contributions from outside donors. They are in
no way different from Nixon’s so-called slush fund of a
quarter century ago.

But back in 1952 most of the liberal furies were directed
at Nixon. There were demands, even among leading Re-
publicans, that he quit the ticket headed by Eisenhower.
However Nixon managed to turn the issue around with a
broadcast appearance which became known as the “Check-
ers” speech.

Some influential press organs refused to let up. Typical
was the front-page story published in the St. Louis Post -
Dispatch on October 30, 1952, five days before the elec-
tion. The story alleged that Nixon had been seen in a gam-
bling casino in Havana the previous April, presumably
living it up with “secret” funds. The story was quickly
picked up and widely used throughout the country. It
turned out that Nixon had been making speeches in
Hawaii at the time the Post-Dispatch placed him in Cuba.
But by the time the truth was made known, the phony story
had done its damage.

The hostility of much of the press continued throughout
Nixon’s eight years as Vice President. During his 1960 run
for the presidency most of the correspondents covering the
campaign made no secret of their support of Kennedy.

“In 1960,” wrote Timothy Crouse in The Boys on the
Bus * “many reporters had become shills for Kennedy* . . .
The reporters on Kennedy’s plane referred to the candidate
as ‘Jack,’ talked constantly about his ‘style’ and ‘grace,*
cheered his speeches, and sang anti-Nixon songs with Ken-
nedy staffers around hotel bars. The Kennedy people en-
couraged this claque atmosphere. . . .”

Nixon’s own bitterness at such press treatment was ex-
acerbated during his 1962 run for governor of California.
The morning after he lost his race, Nixon told reporters,
“You won’t have Nixon to kick around any more, because,
gentlemen, this is my last press conference . . .” Pat Brown,
who had been watching his defeated opponent on televi-
sion, said: “Nixon is going to regret ail his life that he made
that speech. The press will never let him forget it.”

♦(New York: Random House, 1973), p. 182.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 299

Covering Nixon’s 1968 campaign for the presidency,
Gloria Steinem wrote in New York Magazine: “In fact, the
reporters don't like Richard Nixon. As far as I’ve been able
to find out, only two members of the ninety-odd press corps
are likely to vote for him: the U.S. News & World Report
man, who was also for Nixon in ’60, and the Voice of
America correspondent, who is thought to be Republican
because he doesn’t join in anti-Nixon bull sessions and
smokes an unlit pipe.”

In The Making of the President 1968 , Ted White com-
mented that what he called the new culture “dominates the
heights of national communications, subtly but profoundly
influences those who sit astride the daily news flow in
New York and Washington, and thus stains, increasingly,
the prisms of reporting through which the nation as a whole
must see itself.”

And, of all people, Mrs. Katherine Graham, president
of the Washington Post Company, had this to say to
Sigma Delta Chi, the journalism fraternity, in November
1970: “There is some validity in the allegation that we tend
to draw our reporters from a common, narrow base. One of
our staff members put it this way in a memo: ‘Inevitably,
the Post reflects the background biases of the people who
put it out. We are for the most part a collection of Eastern-
ers .. . generally liberal.’ ”

A similar situation applies in television, according to
ABC commentator Howard K. Smith. In a pre-Watergate
commentary Smith described the staffs of the network
news departments as generally liberal, with a “strong left-
ward bias.” Smith, who considers himself “left of center,”
deplored what he termed the pervasiveness of a “party line”
in reporting the news. “Our liberal friends have become
dogmatic,” he said. “They have a set of automatic reactions.
They react the way political cartoonists do — with over-
simplification. They’re pleasing the Washington Post,
they’re pleasing the editors of The New York Times ,
they’re pleasing one another.”

It’s not that there is a conspiracy among the press, but
there most definitely is conformity. That the overwhelming
majority of Washington newsmen have a similar “liberal”
political viewpoint is a fact of life accepted by most
politicians. As a consequence objectivity in reporting has

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largely gone by the boards and there is an increasing
tendency toward advocacy in the news columns. Noting
this, the late Arthur Krock, one of the giants of Washing-
ton journalism, wrote in 1971 of the “highly subjective
nature,” “the name-calling and emotionalism,” and the
“liberty that verges so readily into license” in the treatment
of Washington news.

On no subject was the Washington press corps more
united than in a general dislike, if not hatred, of Richard
Nixon. And Nixon reacted in kind. To him, as he would
say privately, “the press is the enemy.” To him, news peo-
ple constituted — with some exceptions — an unelected, un-
representative, and unbelievably arrogant elite.

There were a few newsmen who did not permit their
presumed liberalism to affect their reporting. One of them
was David Broder, of the Washington Post , whose reputa-
tion as a political analyst is respected in all camps. In the
fail of 1969, after Nixon had served for nine months,
Broder riled many liberals with a column accusing the anti-
war movement of trying “to break the President.” He put
it this way:

. . . The men and the movement that broke Lyndon
Johnson’s authority in 1968 are out to break Richard
M. Nixon in 1969. The likelihood is great that they
will succeed again, for breaking a President is, like
most feats, easier to accomplish the second time
around. . . . First, the breakers arrogate to themselves
a position of moral superiority. For that reason, a war
that is unpopular, expensive and very probably un-
wise is labeled as immoral, indecent and intolerable.

Broder concluded:

The orators who remind us that Mr. Nixon has been
in office for nine months should remind themselves
that he will remain there for thirty-nine more months
— unless, of course, they are willing to put their con-
victions to the test by moving to impeach him. Is that
not, really, the proper course, rather than destroying
his capacity to lead while leaving him in office, rather
than leaving the nation with a broken President at its
head for three years?

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 301

One columnist who was to make no secret of his desire
to “break” the President was Tom Wicker of The New
York Times. He compared the first Nixon Inaugural un-
favorably with that of President Kennedy eight years
previously which, he wrote, had brought to Americans the
feeling that “they were taking the first steps into a bold new
era.” (Forgotten, of course, was the fact they were also
taking the first steps to the Bay of Pigs and Vietnam.) In
contrast, Wicker wrote, the Nixon inauguration “brought
no sense of excitement, of ground-breaking of new worlds,”
with the new President offering only “the old values and the
old assumptions and even the old rhetoric.” He also com-
plained about the Marine band “playing such square music
as This Is My Country and God Bless America”

With the passage of time Wicker got more vehement.
On February 22, 1971, at an antiwar teach-in at Harvard,
the columnist urged 2,000 students to “engage in civil
disobedience of all kinds” as a means of demonstrat-
ing opposition to the Nixon administration’s policy in Viet-
nam. “We got one President out and perhaps we can do
that again,” he said, referring to LBJ’s 1968 decision not
to seek reelection.

Getting American forces out of Vietnam without hand-
ing the country over to the Communists was Nixon’s major
objective during his first term. What Nixon was seeking,
as he said repeatedly, was “peace with honor.” Eventually
he came up with a program which he labeled “Vietnamiza-
tion.” At the same time he sought to negotiate secretly with
the enemy.

Before long The New York Times claimed that the
United States was moving toward unilateral withdrawal.
The story came at a particularly unpropitious time for the
new administration since the President was seeking to as-
sure the South Vietnamese that no “sellout” was in the
works. The Times published other exclusive stories on
foreign policy obviously based on “leaks” — that is, the
surreptitious release of sensitive information. As Kissinger
was to tell a Senate committee, the spring of 1969 was a
“particularly sensitive time with regard to the formulation
of this country’s foreign policies and the establishment of
our future relations with other nations. During this period,
policies were being considered which would establish the
fundamental approach to major foreign policy issues such

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as the United States’ strategic posture, Strategic Arms
Limitation Talks (SALT), Vietnam and many other na-
tional security issues. Because of the sensitive nature of
these matters, the secrecy of each was of vital importance,
and the success or failure of each program turned in many
instances upon the maintenance of necessary security. How-
ever, notwithstanding the critical need for such security
during this period, we were confronted with leaks to the
press of information of the greatest importance to the na-
tional security.”

Kissinger,*. as the President’s chief security adviser, was
almost paranoid about leaks. And this was not necessarily
a bad trait. For, at Nixon’s instructions, the former Har-
vard professor was engaged in complicated dealings with
foreign adversaries. And Kissinger agreed with the Presi-
dent that the only serious negotiations were those that were
kept secret. True, critics were to label this attitude a Nixon-
ian obsession. But how else could sensitive foreign rela-
tions be carried on? For example, without secrecy it
would have been most difficult to have opened the door to
the People’s Republic of China.

It wasn’t that Kissinger was adverse to dealing with the
press. He spent an inordinate amount of time worrying
about what the papers were going to say about him. He
was probably the most image-conscious member of the
Nixon administration. Nor was he adverse to “leaking,” as
long as he controlled the process. At his very first staff
meeting in January 1969 he announced firmly, “If anybody
leaks anything, I will do the leaking.”

Thus when national security leaks were involved, it was
Kissinger who played a major role in arranging for wire-
taps of his own staff as well as newsmen. In this he had
the President’s full approval. The object, of course, was
to determine who was doing the leaking. Nixon was later
to say that he regarded the operation as completely legal
under the law. Moreover, he said, J. Edgar Hoover had as-
sured him that such procedures had been used by previous
administrations to find leaks — a fact which has been estab-
lished during recent congressional probes.

On September 7, 1973, at hearings of the Senate Foreign
Relations Committee on his confirmation as Secretary of
State, Kissinger explained why the FBI wiretaps were or-
dered.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 303

“When this Administration came into office,” he testified,
“for a period of many months it was confronted with leaks
to the press of documents of the greatest importance to the
national security. These included discussions of National
Security Council deliberations, of procedures in case of
emergency contingency planning, and of specific military
operations.

“The last conversation I had with President Eisenhower
was when he called me from Walter Reed Hospital to
protest that information that had been given to him by
the President only two days before as extremely confi-
dential had found its way into a newspaper on the day
that he called.”

Barry Goldwater had a similar experience. He tells of
attending “a meeting of top officials in the White House,”
and the next day he “read all about it in the morning paper
... I am not talking about just any meeting. I am talking
about a meeting that I felt was so confidential that I did
not even discuss it with my staff. Yet, the next day I found
a completely accurate account in the newspaper. It was so
accurate that even the words I spoke were correctly at-
tributed. You almost have to have it happen to you to un-
derstand the feeling such an experience gives you. I called
the President and suggested that something would have
to be done to seal off the leaks of information from the
executive branch.”

Goldwater; of course, was not then aware that the Presi-
dent was indeed trying to do something. How successful
he was is debatable. Concerning the wiretaps, Nixon told
John Dean on February 28, 1973: “They never helped us.
Just gobs and gobs of material; gossip and bullshitting — the
tapping was very, very unproductive. . . .”

Kissinger, who probably had better knowledge of the
productivity, said at his confirmation heftring, “There were
some cases in which the sources of some leaks were dis-
covered and in which appropriate action was taken.”

The wiretapping program was ended in February 1971.
In July Assistant Attorney General Robert Mardian dis-
cussed the disposal of the tapes with President Nixon at the
Western White House in San Clemente. In later testimony
Mardian said that Nixon explained the taping was related
to national security leaks which had to be stopped. The
President was concerned that information from the National

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VICTOR LASKY

Security Council relating to the American position on the
current SALT talks had been in the possession of the Rus-
sians before one of the meetings. “In that context,” Mardian
went on, “he expressed great concern not only about
SALT, but also his ability to govern if he could not main-
tain the confidentiality of the White House.”

By this time there had occurred the most massive security
leak in our diplomatic history. This was the publication of
numerous documents which became known as the Pentagon
Papers. Carefully edited portions of the papers — a history
of the Vietnam war and U.S. involvement as prepared by
Defense Department experts — began to appear in The New
York Times. The first article, which was published on
June 13, 1971, curiously enough did not appear to arouse
too much concern in the Oval Office. If anything the ma-
terial included revelations that could be embarrassing only
to Lyndon Johnson and his top advisers. Since the study
ended in early 1968, the material was hardly likely to em-
barrass the Nixon administration.

But Kissinger felt different. As National Security Coun-
cil director he was then negotiating secretly with North
Vietnamese officials in Paris seeking an end to the war in
Vietnam. At the same time there were negotiations with
the People’s Republic of China for a confidential visit to
Peking by Kissinger — with the hope of paving the way
for a rapprochement with the Communist regime. The
fear was that the Chinese might back out . because the
United States was incapable of keeping confidences with
other nations.

When it became known that Daniel J. Ellsberg was the
former government official who had purloined the Pentagon
documents and then given them to the Times, Kissinger
was even more upset. Kissinger had known Ellsberg. They
had worked together on a paper dealing with U.S. options
in Vietnam at the Nixon transition headquarters in New
York. Ellsberg was then on the payroll of the Rand Cor-
poration, a West Coast think tank with close government
connections. What Kissinger did not know at the time was
that Ellsberg, who had been a fanatical “hawk” on Viet-
nam, by now had become an even more fanatical “dove.”

According to Colson, Kissinger was “even more alarmed”
by the publication of the Pentagon Papers than Nixon, and
he communicated his alarm to the President. In an affidavit

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 305

made public by a federal judge on April 29, 1974, the
former presidential counsel asserted that Kissinger “believed
that the leaks must be stopped at all costs, that Ellsberg
must be stopped from making further disclosures of classi-
fied information and that those acting in concert with him
must be stopped.”

Colson told of one •high-level White House meeting at
which “Dr. Kissinger also reported on Ellsberg’s private
habits and certain of his activities in Vietnam.” This of
course was a reference to what a CIA psychiatrist was to
refer to as Ellsberg’s “blatant” and variegated sexual habits.

Ehrlichman, who also met with the President and Kissin-
ger, later quoted Kissinger as describing Ellsberg as “a
fanatic,” as well as a “known drug abuser,” who had
“knowledge of very critical defense secrets of current va-
lidity, such as nuclear deterrent targeting.” The latter re-
ferred to Ellsberg’s having worked on nuclear targeting
plans for Defense Secretary Robert Strange McNamara
in the mid-sixties. These closely held nuclear secrets were
contained in a highly classified document — the Single Inte-
grated Operations Plan (SIOP). Kissinger informed Nixon
that a leak of SIOP would be devastating to national se-
curity. SIOP spelled out the timing and attack patterns of
American nuclear bombs in case of war; it contained
specific targeting information for every military objective
behind the Iron and Bamboo curtains, including the num-
ber and power of nuclear warheads programmed for each
target.

Contributing to the fears was a report from an FBI
counterspy that the Soviet Embassy in Washington had
received a full set of the Pentagon Papers prior to their
publication. The immediate suspicion was that it was Ells-
berg who had passed on the secret documents. Accord-
ing to a New York Times story, one former Nixon official
recalled Kissinger’s “literally pounding the President’s
table” over all of this.

By this time Nixon had come to see in Ellsberg another
Hiss. Pressured by Kissinger to do something about the
“madman’s” activities, the President called in Colson and
Haldeman and said: “I don’t give a damn how it is done,
do whatever has to be done to stop these leaks and prevent
further unauthorized disclosures; I don’t want to be told
why it can’t be done. This Government cannot survive, it

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cannot function if anyone can run out and leak whatever
documents he wants to.”

Colson said the President had demanded to learn “how
and why the ‘counter-government* is at work, I don’t
want excuses. I want results. I want it done, whatever the
costs.”

There was another reason for presidential anger. The
feeling was that Ellsberg’s release of the Pentagon Papers
had thwarted a peace offer made by the United States to
North Vietnam. The offer was delivered in Paris by Kissin-
ger in May 1971. He, Nixon, and other U.S. officials be-
lieved it would be accepted. But, according to Colson,
when Hanoi rejected the offer “without giving any reasons’*
thirteen days after the Times began publishing the papers
on June 13, 1971, “the White House felt their publication
weakened support given to the United States by other
countries and led North Vietnam to expect further weak-
ening of our position.” Later Colson estimated that this
probably delayed the end of the war by eighteen months.

That “the Nixon Administration’s concern with Ells-
berg was not unreasonable” was a point made by the Wall
Street Journal in an editorial on July 16, 1974, following
the conviction of Ehrlichman and others for the break-in
at Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office. ‘*‘He had access to a
great deal of classified information far more important than
the Pentagon Papers, and his motivations and psychological
make-up were highly pertinent in trying to guess what
else he might release. And as we now after all know,
sporadic and sensitive negotiations were under way to ex-
tricate the U.S. from the Vietnam war.”

It is of course easy at this point in time — to use a Water-
gate phrase — to forget what the political climate was like
back in the Nixon years. But it was a most painful period
in American life: one of great tension and polarization, of
angry rhetoric and demonstrations, of conspiracies real and
imagined, of casual talk about overthrowing everything.
Often it was more than talk. Scanlan f s f a now-defunct anti-
Establishment monthly, claimed in January 1971 that there
was a dramatic increase in “guerrilla acts and terrorism.”
As evidence it listed over 1,200 acts of violence per-
petrated during the period of 1965 to June 1970. They
included sniping, bombing, dynamiting, arson, the use of
Molotov cocktails, and terrorism. The violence of the New

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 307

Left appeared to be sanctioned in the seemingly lofty pages
of The New York Review of Books. Andrew Kopkind, for
example, enunciated his memorable observation: “Morality,
like politics, starts at the barrel of a gun.” Kopkind seemed
to be championing rioting, and the young responded on
the campuses. This was the time when the Review pub-
lished an illustration on its cover on how to manufacture a
Molotov Cocktail, a provocative act which was to haunt
the weekly’s editors despite Murray Kempton’s funny re-
mark that people in Newark found the cocktail formula
didn’t work.

Leaders of both political parties were alarmed. Follow-
ing the 1967 antiwar demonstration at the Pentagon, at
which Vietcong flags were unfurled, Democratic floor
leader Carl Albert charged that the huge demonstration
was “basically organized by international Communism.*’
And Republican floor leader Gerald Ford revealed that
President Johnson, at a White House meeting, had read to
him and other GOP leaders a secret report contending that
the demonstration had been organized by the international
Communist movement. Ford claimed to have asked that
the report be made public. But, he said, Attorney Gen-
eral Clark and Secretary of State Rusk both claimed that
doing so would compromise sources of information and
create a “new wave of McCarthyism.”

Later Senator Henry Jackson met with President Nixon
in the Oval Office to complain bitterly about the easy ac-
cess Soviet agents were having up on the Hill to argue
against such major defense proposals as the anti-ballistic
missile. The way “Scoop” had it, KGB agents were actual-
ly being welcomed into the offices of a number of senators
and congressmen; moreover there wasn’t a blessed thing
the FBI could do about it. For under restrictions agreed
to by Director Hoover, none of his agents were permitted
— except under rare circumstances — to conduct surveil-
lance on Capitol grounds.

And following the publication of the Pentagon Papers,
Governor Jimmy Carter of Georgia called on a senator to
urge, in his words, “the enactment of Federal legislation
that would make news organizations criminally liable.”

It was in this environment that the Special Investigations
Unit — later to become more familiar as the “plumbers” —
was born. The White House felt — rightly or wrongly — that

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the FBI had been dragging its feet in the Ellsberg case.
For one thing there was Hoover’s friendship with Ells-
berg’s father-in-law Louis Marx. A wealthy toy manufac-
turer, Marx was far from sympathetic with his son-in-law’s
exotic politics. Nevertheless Hoover did not want his friend
interviewed by any of his agents. Somehow the director’s
wishes were ignored. Through a mixup Marx was in-
terrogated. After which the FBI official in charge was reas-
signed to a less desirable post.

Moreover Hoover believed — again rightly or wrongly —
than an intensive investigation into how the Pentagon
Papers came to be published would only create public re-
lations problems for his Bureau. At this stage of his long
life Hoover was too weary to do battle with his old foes
in the media. The director felt that the Ellsberg case con-
stituted a no-win situation.

All of which helped to create still more dissatisfaction
with the FBI at the White House. For some time Nixon
and his aides had been annoyed at the Bureau’s inability
to cope with the New Left, and particularly with the rash
of bombings that were taking place across the country. The
feeling was that while Hoover had done a good job in-
filtrating organizations like the Communist party and the
Ku Klux Klan, the director’s old-fashioned methods were
not appropriate for combating the new extremists. At the
same time the White House disliked dealing with the FBI
because, as Ehrlichman told me at the time, “the Bureau
leaks like a sieve.” For a while Nixon was urged by some
aides to put Hoover out to pasture. But they quickly
learned there was no way they could get the director to
agree to a well-earned retirement.

Thus with Ehrlichman as the head honcho, the plumbers
came into being. But Ehrlichman, then presidential as-
sistant in charge of domestic affairs, was too busy to involve
himself very deeply in investigative matters. He turned
over the principal chores to two young lawyers on the
White House staff. They were David R. Young, Jr., thirty-
two, and Egil M. (“Bud”) Krogh, Jr., thirty-one, neither
of whom had any investigative experience to speak of.

Krogh had gone to work at the White House in May
1969 as an aide to Ehrlichman, for whom he had worked
briefly in a Seattle law firm. Like Ehrlichman he was a
Christian Scientist. After graduating from Principia College

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 309

in Illinois, Krogh served for two years in the navy. In 1968
he was graduated from the University of Washington law
school. At the White House his work was outstanding.
Among other things he acted as liaison with the District of
Columbia.

District problems had concerned Nixon from the mo-
ment he entered the White House. The erupting crime rate
in the nation’s capital had been forcefully brought to his
attention by an ad hoc committee composed of some of the
town’s leading citizens who, as it happened, were mostly of
the liberal persuasion. Those who met with Attorney Gen-
eral Mitchell to call for action on the part of the new ad-
ministration included Katherine Graham, publisher of the
Washington Post; attorney Edward Bennett Williams, a
noted civil libertarian; and Joe Califano, former aide to
President Johnson and later counsel to the Democratic Na-
tional Committee. As Mitchell recalled their conversation,
they described the situation in Washington as being so
bad that they feared for their lives. Among other things
they suggested the stationing of federal troops throughout
the capital for the emergency.

The irony of the leading lights of the liberal Establish-
ment calling for such extremist measures was not lost on
Nixon. Though elected on a “law and order” platform, the
President did not want to launch his administration by
virtually declaring martial law. That, of course, had been
the case not too many: months earlier during the racial
rioting that greeted the assassination of Dr. King. Instead
Nixon felt that beefing up the local police forces would
be a better response. And Krogh, as liaison with the
District of Columbia, was right in the thick of things
helping push through Congress various measures sought
by the local government. He also traveled to Europe, Asia,
the Middle East, and Latin America, coordinating admin-
istration efforts to check the world heroin trade.

And so Krogh became co-chief of the plumbers, his
partner being Dave Young, a trusted aide to Kissinger.
Young had known Henry for some time before coming
to Washington. They had met at the Rockefeller brothers’
office in midtown Manhattan. An Oxford graduate, Young
had been a member of the law firm of Milbank-Tweed
when he was assigned to work at the Rockefeller office.
He became chief researcher for Nancy Maginnes (now

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VICTOR LASKY

Mrs. Kissinger), who directed foreign policy analyses for
the Rockefellers. When Kissinger went to work for Nixon,
he invited the young lawyer to become his appointments
secretary. With his new bride, the former Susie Kelley, who
had also worked for the Rockefellers, Young moved to
Washington and settled on Foxhall Road.

Working for Kissinger didn’t prove overly exciting for
Young, who found himself doing all kinds of odd chores,
such as handling Henry’s social schedule and personal
business. “Dave’s wife even did Henry’s laundry,” one
former official said. So Young wasn’t overly distressed
when he was assigned to investigate leaks.

Testifying at his confirmation hearings to be Secretary
of State, Kissinger said under oath that he had no
knowledge “of any such [illegal] activities that David
Young may have engaged in. I did not know of the ex-
istence of the Plumbers group, by that or any other name.
Nor did I know that David Young was concerned with in-
ternal security matters.”

Kissinger did concede that, though Young had been
transferred to Ehrlichman’s staff in June 1971, his former
aide remained on Kissinger’s payroll until forced out of
the government in May 1973. Kissinger testified he had
understood that Young was working on a declassification
project. Which, of course. Was the “cover” for Young’s
role with the plumbers. “I had no contact with David
Young either by telephone or in my office or in any other
way after he left my staff, although I continued to have a
high regard for him.”

Two weeks after he was approved as Secretary, the
Watergate Committee released an affidavit which in effect
called into question Kissinger’s knowledge of the plumbers.
The affidavit disclosed that on August 12, 1971, David
Young met with a CIA psychiatrist named Dr. Bernard
Malloy to arrange for a psychiatric profile of Ellsberg.
This was at a time when Kissinger had testified he was
unaware of his former aide’s doings. According to the
affidavit, however, “Mr. Young stated that the Ellsberg
study had the highest priority, and had been requested by
Mr. Ehrlichman and Dr. Kissinger.”

Malloy’s study of Ellsberg, based as it was on news-
paper clippings, magazine articles, and a few State De-
partment documents and FBI reports, proved unsatisfac-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 311 -

tory. Also unsatisfactory was an FBI visit to the Beverly
Hills offices of Ellsberg’s former psychiatrist. On advice
of counsel Dr. Lewis J. Fielding refused to cooperate with
the Bureau by discussing his former patient’s mental prob-
lems.

The plumbers, augmented by G. Gordon Liddy and
Howard Hunt, discussed the possibility of a “bag job” — or
an illegal entry of the Fielding premises — by the FBI. But
J. Edgar Hoover had previously ordered the end of such
operations. As for using the Secret Service, the feeling was
— as reported by Liddy — that its agents could not be
trusted on such sensitive assignments.

Meanwhile, Ehrlichman kept the President informed
about what the plumbers were up to. Nixon’s only beef was
that “their effort . . . was not vigorous enough.” At one
point the President told Ehrlichman that “Krogh should,
of course, do whatever he considered necessary to get to
the bottom of the matter — to learn what Ellsberg’s mo-
tives and potential ' further harmful action might be.”
Which was what Krogh sought to do. With what he be-
lieved to be Ehrlichman’s approval, Krogh authorized “a
covert operation ... to examine all the medical files still
held by Ellsberg’s psychoanalyst covering the two-year
period in which he was undergoing analysis.” Among other
things, said Krogh, he was seeking information possibly
leading to other conspirators. But as Krogh himself later
made clear, after he received a six-month jail term on
charges growing out of the burglary of Dr. Fielding’s of-
fices, “I received no specific instruction or authority what-
soever regarding the break-in from the President, directly
or indirectly.”

The burglary itself was a botched job. The Cuban-
Americans who had broken into the psychiatrist’s offices
could find nothing of interest. They took some photos
showing that they had, indeed, been on the job; and then
they went back to the Beverly Hilton where, for some un-
accountable reason, Hunt broke out the champagne as if
to celebrate. But celebrate what? To this day the Cubans
have been perplexed by “Eduardo’s” behavior.

On their return to Washington Hunt and Liddy re-
ported their mission was unaccomplished. They showed
Krogh the pictures of the damage that was done to Field-
ing’s office. The reason for the damage, they said, was to

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VICTOR LASKY

make it appear that a burglar was searching for money
and/or drugs. Then Hunt and Liddy sought permission to
break into Dr. Fielding’s apartment since they felt that,
after the FBI visit, the psychiatrist might have taken the
Ellsberg file home. But Ehrlichman told Krogh, “The
thing should be terminated, discontinued, finalized,
stopped.”

It was almost two years later when Nixon first learned of
the episode. This came during a conversation with Dean
on March 17, 1973:

dean: . . . The other potential problem is Ehrlichman’s
and this is —

president: In connection with Hunt?

dean: In connection with Hunt and Liddy both.

president: They worked for him?

dean: They — these fellows had to be some idiots as we’ve
learned after the fact. They went out and went into Dr.
Ellsberg’s doctor’s office and they had, they were geared
up with all this CIA equipment — cameras and the
like. . . .

president: What in the world — what in the name of God
was Ehrlichman having something (unintelligible) in the
Ellsberg (unintelligible)?

dean: They were trying to — this was a part of an opera-
tion that — in connection with the Pentagon Papers. They
were — the whole thing — they wanted to get Ellsberg’s
psychiatric records for some reason. I don’t know.
president: This is the first I ever heard of this. I, I (un-
intelligible) care about Ellsberg was not our problem.

All through the summer of 1971 the leaks continued.
On July 24 the President met with Ehrlichman and Krogh
to complain bitterly about a New York Times dispatch
which disclosed the U.S. back-up position in its arms
limitation talks with the Soviet Union. When Krogh re-
ported that the “prime suspect” was a Pentagon official who
had talked to the Times reporter that week, Nixon ex-
ploded: If the son-of-a-bitch leaked, he’s not for the Gov-
ernment . . . little people do not leak . . . this crap to the
effect: well, a stenographer did it, or the waste paper
basket did it. It’s never that case. I’ve studied these cases
long enough, and it’s always a son-of-a-bitch that leaks.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 313

How to get the “sons-of-bitches” out of government was
a subject much on White House minds. One published
story was particularly sensitive since it could only have
come from a CIA informant within the government of
India. The story, published in the Times , reported that
Moscow had urged India not to recognize East Pakistan
as an independent nation. The informant incidentally was
not heard from after that, but Krogh was led to believe
he may well have lost his life.

Then came a series of columns by Jack Anderson dis-
closing that the Nixon administration, while publicly pro-
fessing neutrality, had privately “tilted” toward Pakistan
in its dispute with India. The columns were particularly
sensitive since they contained material obviously taken
from the minutes of the Washington Special Action Group,
a super-secret outfit set up by the White House to deal
with major crises. In one of his columns, for example,
Anderson quoted Kissinger as saying, “I’m getting hell
every half-hour from the President that we’re not being
tough enough on India. He has just called me again. He
doesn’t believe we’re carrying out his wishes. He wants
us to tilt in favor of Pakistan.”*

By this time the plumbers had already been disbanded.
But both Krogh and Young were called back to duty and
ordered to look for Anderson’s source. They not only
quickly discovered who they believed to be the source
but, in so doing, learned of the existence of a “ring” of
military officers who were spying on the activities of the
National Security Council. The discovery sent alarm bells
ringing throughout the White House.

Most of the investigatory work was done by Young.
And Young had determined that a Yeoman First Class
Charles E. Radford had rifled files, briefcases, and “burn
bags” for documents to be clandestinely transmitted to the
joint chiefs at the Pentagon. Whether this could be con-
sidered espionage in the traditional sense is debatable.

♦Actually Nixon had sought to dissuade India’s prime minister
Indira Gandhi from waging war with neighboring Pakistan. The
President felt Pakistan should be given time to work out problems
with her eastern wing, now known as Bangladesh. Nixon argued
that no one would benefit from that war. Considering the problems
of Bangladesh and now of India, under Gandhi’s authoritarian rule,
Nixon was not too far off the mark.

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VICTOR LASKY

Obviously the joint chiefs wanted to know what the hell
was going on inside “Henry’s shop.” Like the President,
Kissinger preferred to play his cards close to his vest,
telling as few people as possible what they were up to.
And what they were up to — particularly in regard to
detente with the Soviets and the Chinese, as well as in
limitation of strategic arms — was what the joint chiefs ap-
parently felt they had a right to know.

Nevertheless Kissinger was outraged at the discovery
of what was to become known as “Pentagon spying.” Not
only did he order the liaison office shut down, but he ar-
ranged for the transfers of Rear Admiral Robert O.
Welander and his assistant Yeoman Radford. Welander
was sent out to command a cruiser flotilla; Radford (who
was also suspected of being Anderson’s source) was trans-
ferred to a reserve recruiting station in the Far West. Ap-
parently on orders from President Nixon a major effort
was made to keep the messy affair under wraps.

Several years later after the story was broken by the
Chicago Tribune , Kissinger continued to deny that he had
had any knowledge of the plumbers. At a press con-
ference in January 1974 the Secretary of State conceded
that he had been aware that his former assistant had in-
terrogated Admiral Welander, “but from this one could
not suppose that David Young was conducting an investi-
gation.”

The more Kissinger attempted to explain, the more he
perplexed seasoned correspondents. Even his best friends
in the press corps were displeased by his double talk. The
Washington Post, for example, observed editorially that
Kissinger’s sworn assurances that he had known nothing of
David Young and/or the plumbers “look very strange
now.” And Nick Thimmesch summed it all up by say-
ing that, while he could understand Dr. Kissinger’s valid
worry about leaks,

what I can’t understand is why Kissinger, in the Year
of Watergate, hasn’t owned up to his role in the wire-
tapping of a number of his own staff and other gov-
ernment figures, his deep involvement with David
Young and his knowledge of the plumbers’ activities.
His denial of the latter, as found in his testimony be-
fore the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, could

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 315

get Dr. Kissinger into serious trouble, possibly into
a charge of perjury.

In other words Kissinger could well have defended ac-
tions he was obviously involved with. After all, whatever
wrong came out of wiretapping and the plumbers’ activities
could hardly be laid to him, for he certainly did not order
criminality.

But, unlike most hapless individuals in the Nixon ad-
ministration including eventually the President himself,
Kissinger had many good friends in such critical places as
the Congress and the media. And they came to his rescue
in June 1974 when, still riding high on a number of for-
eign policy successes, Kissinger threatened to resign unless
he was cleared of allegations that he had participated in
“illegal or shady activity*’ in government wiretapping of
individuals. The Secretary had expected a hero’s welcome
when he returned to Washington following exhausting and
successful negotiations in the Middle East. Instead he was
jolted by blunt news conference questions as to whether
he was retaining counsel for a possible perjury trial.

How deeply wounded Kissinger felt at the questioning
of his veracity was demonstrated a few days later when he
angrily voiced his threat to resign at an unscheduled press
conference in Salzburg, Austria, where he and Nixon had
paused before their trip through Israel and the Arab na-
tions. Scarcely had his anguished words echoed through the
halls of Congress when fifty-two senators of both parties,
without waiting for all the evidence, raced to sign a resolu-
tion stating that Kissinger’s “integrity and veracity are
beyond reproach.”

With some major exceptions {The New York Times , for
example, accused the Secretary of “dissembling”), edito-
rialists and columnists in Washington and across the coun-
try also rushed to Kissinger’s defense. In general they
argued that the search for Watergate culprits had gone
too far. Joseph Alsop wondered

why it was so shocking for a servant of the Nixon Ad-
ministration to worry about national security to the
extent of knowingly approving under a score of wire-
taps. After all, national security wiretaps were very
much more numerous in the Truman Administration,

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VICTOR LASKY

and they were vastly more numerous in the admin-
istration of President Kennedy. This reporter, with a
known three wiretaps to his credit, all pre-Nixon, has
long held the doctrine that if you have not been
tapped, you have been slacking on your job. ... In
short, the servants of the Nixon Administration are
plainly being judged by different tests than those that
prevailed in happier times.

Nevertheless there was a pronounced lack of desire to
go after Kissinger with the same prosecutorial zeal dem-
onstrated against other figures in the Nixon entourage.
Even for those who thought Henry had not been telling the
whole story, as Newsweek reported at the time, “there
seems little enthusiasm for pursuing the matter.” Kissinger
was the only political hero left in the dying days of the
Nixon administration. Even perjury should be forgiven
when it came to Henry, said his old friend Joseph Kraft,
who had been zestfully punching away at Nixon and his
aides. “While he may have lied,” Kraft informed his read-
ers, “the untruths are matters of little consequence when
weighed against his service to the state.”

It was obvious, as then noted by one of Kissinger’s
wiretapping victims, that different standards were being
applied in judging the conduct of Nixon and his much-
admired Secretary of State. Apparently, wrote Daniel I.
Davidson, who had been a member of Kissinger’s staff,
“the normal rules of conduct are not applicable to Henry
Kissinger superstar. If those rules are not applicable to
him, should they be applicable to Richard Nixon, who
also deserves credit for foreign policy achievements?”

TWENTY

Ironically, despite repeated contentions to the contrary,
the 1972 presidential campaign proved to be one of the
cleanest in American history. All of the “dirty tricks” per-
formed by the Nixonites had “the weight of a feather” in
determining the final outcome, as Theodore H. White
phrased it in The Making of the President 1972 . If any-
thing Nixon’s 61-38 percent margin might have been larger
if 3 or 4 million Americans had not been turned off by
Watergate.

Actually the biggest “dirty trick” of the campaign was
one the Democrats played on themselves — the nomination
of George McGovern as their standardbearer. For in presi-
dential terms the senator from South Dakota was a goner
by the night he was nominated. Rarely had the American
electorate seen as bizarre a gathering as the delegates who
came together at Miami Beach for the quadrennial Demo-
cratic Convention. And it was all there on the tube several
days running. To many stay-at-home Democrats the spec-
tacle was far from edifying. At the White House where he
occasionally glanced at his set, the incumbent knew he
had it made. The election was over before it actually began.

A year later, toward the tail end of the Watergate hear-
ings, Hubert Humphrey — who had himself sought the 1972
nomination — appeared on Meet the Press . In response to a
question the senator from Minnesota observed that “the
dirtiest trick that was played was the Democrats playing
it on themselves, their crazy system of quotas and sub-
quotas and partial voting, all kinds of gymnastics, po-
litical gymnastics that we went through to divide our party.
No Republican could have conceived of a program that did
as much to tear the Democratic party apart as we our-
selves.”

Of course Humphrey did his bit to assure McGovern’s

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VICTOR LASKY

defeat. After Ed Muskie had been eliminated as a front-
runner, the Minnesotan delivered upon McGovern as dev-
astating an attack as anyone in the White House could
have dreamed of. Humphrey made the case against Mc-
Govern better than any of his subsequent Republican at-
tackers. Writing in Life magazine, Pierre Salinger, who had
been one of McGovern’s top aides, contended that Hum-
phrey and the high command of the AFL-CIO had “suc-
ceeded beyond their wildest expectations” in painting Mc-
Govern as a “dangerous radical.” Literature aimed at
defense workers claimed that a McGovern presidency
would cost them their jobs. Jews were handed pamphlets
saying that McGovern would sell out Israel. In televised
debates Humphrey pronounced McGovern’s economic pro-
gram as irresponsible and his tax program as confiscatory.
“McGovern’s positions were shamelessly distorted beyond
recognition and the damage was done,” wrote Salinger. “I
am not saying that the Nixon campaign would not have
done the same thing, but Hubert Humphrey had credibility
with Democrats which Nixon never possessed.”

There were issues in the 1972 campaign and McGovern
lost on them. In the March 1974 issue of The Atlantic ,
David Broder wrote: “Every serious analysis of the 1972
election shows that issues had a larger importance than
ever before — and worked badly to the Democrats’ detri-
ment. What few Democrats in Congress, but many out-
side, see is that, despite Watergate chicanery, Richard
Nixon won on the issues in 1972 — as he was able to de-
fine them.”

And while McGovern himself refused to agree that he
had lost on the issues, the ill-fated candidate did finally
concede that the electorate had overwhelmingly rejected
what “they perceived to be a confusion and uncertainty of
leadership” — that is, McGovern’s leadership. “To a large
degree the failure of that campaign was its own fault, and
I bear the largest share of responsibility,” McGovern said
in October 1975 — three years after his defeat. It was the
first time he had publicly taken upon himself the blame
for his party’s debacle. The senator listed among his “mis-
takes”: “the inadequate preparation” of his proposal for a
$1,000 guaranteed annual income, which he never properly
explained; “staff disorganization and disputes”; delivering
his acceptance speech at 3:00 a.m. when the television au-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

319

dience was asleep; and the “vice presidential problem” —
namely, the selection and subsequent removal of Senator
Thomas F. Eagleton as his runningmate without thorough
checking. The Eagleton episode, said McGovern, “was the
most serious error of the campaign.”

McGovern could also have listed among his “mistakes”
his intemperate rhetoric. As he was battling to stay alive
politically, he could hardly contain himself. “It is Mc-
Govern, not Nixon, who has been driven to the harsh and
shrill extremes,” noted John Osborne in The New Republic.
Among other things McGovern likened Nixon to Hitler, re-
peatedly saying, “The main issue in this whole campaign
is Richard M. Nixon.” And at a Midwest airport in the final
week of the campaign the Democratic candidate greeted
a heckler with the historic words, “Kiss my ass.” By this
time McGovern had also had it with conservative news-
paper columnists. “I find them pretty despicable char-
acters,” he observed. “They’re really propagandists for a
narrow and outmoded cause.” So bitter were the Mc-
Govemites toward some of the gentlemen of the press
that Frank Mankiewicz personally ordered Robert Novak,
of Evans & Novak, barred from the candidate’s plane and
relegated to the “Zoo plane,” usually filled with television
technicians and the like. When he heard of the shift, a
livid Novak encountered Mankiewicz and shouted, “Okay,
Frank. No more Mr. Nice Guy!”

Not one of McGovern’s “mistakes” could in any way
have been attributed to Nixon’s “dirty tricksters,” the most
notorious of whom was Donald H. Segretti. In fact when
news of the break-in hit the newspapers, all such activity
was called off. Segretti himself scurried into hiding. And
from mid-June McGovern was able to head up a campaign
in which, as a disillusioned Dick Tuck has suggested, the
only “dirty tricks” were “the ones the McGovern cam-
paigners played on each other.”

Tuck, of course, was the Democrats* “dirty trickster,”
who had long made a career out of harassing Republicans,
particularly Nixon. Except that his many media friends
would lovingly refer to his dubious activities as “pranks.”
Frank Mankiewicz however, for whom Tuck had worked
during the McGovern campaign, did describe Tuck as what
he really was — “the grand old man of dirty tricks.” (It
was a title which “the grand old man” did not appreci-

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VICTOR LASKY

ate, particularly after Watergate when some of his past
capers came back to haunt him.)

Mankiewicz, incidentally, was not opposed to “dirty
tricks” when they were practiced against McGovern’s
enemies during the 1972 primaries. And he made that per-
fectly clear in a book entitled Perfectly Clear, a rousing
attack on Nixon. In reviewing the book for the Washing-
ton Post, Lou Cannon, an expert on California politics,
noted that Mankiewicz’s effort presents Nixon “not as man
but as monster. Even more, the book reveals a persistent
double standard that does Mankiewicz no credit. Mc-
Govern’s ‘pranks’ against John Lindsay are great fun. Dick
Tuck is glorified (with no mention of his paste-and-
scissors campaign against a decent Democratic state sen-
ator). . . .”

The McGovernite pranks against Lindsay constituted a
textbook case of overkill. They occurred during the primary
in Florida where the New York mayor sought to establish
himself as a Democratic contender. McGovern’s main
objective was to stop Lindsay, whom he considered the
prime obstacle in his battle for the championship of the
left. To this end McGovern had a strange ally in Matthew
Troy, Jr., the Queens Democratic leader who hated Lind-
say’s guts. Among other things Troy had gained renown
when he climbed the roof at City Hail to raise the flag
after Lindsay had ordered it flown at half-mast following
the tragic events at Kent State. For, if anything, Troy rep-
resented the earthy patriotism of New York’s hard-hat
voters, a fact which, according to Mankiewicz, “made him
a special hero to us.” Politics do indeed make strange bed-
fellows.

Working closely with Mankiewicz, Troy headed up
efforts to “destabilize” the Lindsay effort. Aides were
flown to Florida, where they concentrated on reminding
transplanted New Yorkers about the horrors that Lindsay
had wreaked on the Big Apple. For example they hired a
small plane to cruise up and down Miami Beach, towing a
banner with the message: “Lindsay means Tsouris.” For
the Gentiles who may not have understood, another plane
towed a second banner: “And Tsouris means Trouble.” At
the same time Tuck had a band of volunteers whose job it
was to wave embarrassing signs at Lindsay rallies and to
heckle the mayor. Tuck’s minions even infiltrated legitimate

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 321

press conferences to ask Lindsay about New York’s prob-
lems.

Mankiewicz was particularly proud of one such con-
ference. It was in fact the big one called by Lindsay to
announce his official entry into Florida’s primary. The Mc-
Governites tried to think of a question that would surely
fluster the mayor. “We came up with it, and we got lucky,”
wrote Mankiewicz. The McGovern infiltrator was the first
one recognized by Lindsay. And as three network and five
local cameras zeroed in, the planted tormentor asked,
“Mayor Lindsay, if you are elected President, how would
you change U.S. policy toward Mexico?”

His Honor was noticeably rattled. As Mankiewicz later
wrote, “The puzzled look on Lindsay’s face made it all
worthwhile.”

Under Tuck’s guidance the McGovern forces also played
tricks on Senator Muskie, who was contesting in the
primary. Muskie had once told questioners that he would
not take a Black man as his runningmate since that would
guarantee his defeat. So Tuck arranged for Muskie to be
constantly needled about why he didn’t think a Black man
was qualified for high office.

Muskie, then considered the front-runner, was a major
target of the McGovernites. And Mankiewicz still chortles
over the practical joke they had planned for the Maine
Democrat. Muskie had been scheduled to address an AFL-
CIO picnic in Alameda County, California. It happened
that Democratic County Chairman William Lockyer was
also the McGovern coordinator for northern California. As
chairman, Lockyer was asked to arrange to get Muskie
from the airport to the picnic grounds. According to
Mankiewicz, Lockyer rented a long black limousine and
arranged for a Black chauffeur, in full livery, who was
prepared to bow when he opened the door for Muskie. “I
added the suggestion that he be prevailed upon to tug once
or twice at his forelock as the news cameras zeroed in,”
wrote Mankiewicz. But when the candidate came off the
plane, he quickly sized up the situation and arranged to be
taken away in a more modest automobile. If the McGov-
ernites had pulled it off, says Mankiewicz, it “would
have been the great political stunt of the campaign.”

Why all this harassment? Explained McGovern’s research
director Ted Van Dyk: “Our tactics were simple: challenge

322 VICTOR LASKY

Muskie to debate; crowd his famous temper; have Mc-
Govern supporters and signs present at all his rallies; ques-
tion his late-blooming conversion to the peace movement;
encourage him to spread himself too thin among the many
primary states; outorganize him in states where we had a
chance. It was, in [Pat] Buchanan’s phrase, sometimes ‘po-
litical hardball.’ ”

Of course Muskie’s “famous temper” finally got the bet-
ter of him. Who could ever forget the extraordinary scene
when the Maine senator lost control of his emotions while
standing in front of the offices of the Manchester Union-
Leader in New Hampshire? There was Muskie bare-
headed in the snow, tears streaming down his face, as he
denounced publisher William Loeb as a “liar” and a “gut-
less coward” for having attacked his wife. Actually what
the Union-Leader had done was to reprint an interview
with Mrs. Muskie by a reporter from Women’s Wear Daily,
which in turn had been reproduced by Newsweek, a
magazine published by the Washington Post Company.

The Union-Leader had also published what appeared
to be a spurious letter which claimed that Muskie, while in
Florida, had laughed at a description of French-Canadians
— of whom there are many in New Hampshire — as “Can-
nocks.” The word actually is “Canucks” and it is con-
sidered offensive. At any rate Muskie couldn’t contain him-
self. “I was just goddamned mad and choked up over my
anger,” he said later. But the episode did dramatize certain
disabling personal weaknesses. And that meant the end of
Muskie’s front-running candidacy.*

Who was responsible for the “Canuck” letter? Conven-
tional wisdom suggests that the Nixon “dirty tricks” opera-
tion may have done the job. But no concrete evidence
to that effect was ever produced, despite exhaustive inves-
tigative effort by both the Ervin Committee and the media.
And no one ever asked who benefited most directly from
the episode. It was, of course, George McGovern.

♦Ironically during the 1968 campaign Muskie had frequently alluded
to Nixon’s emotional state. Before one campaign audience Muskie
declared, “You remember that press conference when he broke down
completely under pressure’’ (referring to the famous 1962 meeting
with newsmen). “If he can’t take that kind of pressure, how’s he
going to take the pressure of being President?’’ Muskie asked.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 323

Nevertheless as John Roche has observed, “the Muskie
development was sheer political luck; it could never have
been predicted.”

Meanwhile Segretti was also dreaming up “political
stunts,” most of them, not much different from what the
McGovernites had been doing. The Republican worker,
however, concentrated on manufacturing and distributing
phony leaflets. Hundreds of copies of one of them, read-
ing: “If you like Hitler, you’ll love Wallace,” were slipped
under the windshield wipers of cars parked at a rally for
the Alabama governor in St. Petersburg, Florida. Other
leaflets signed “Mothers for Muskie” advocated “more bus-
ing” for schoolchildren at a time when the issue was most
controversial. Segretti eventually came a cropper with a
letter duplicated on “Citizens for Muskie” stationery which
purportedly gave the “facts” concerning bizarre sexual con-
duct and excessive drinking on the part of Senators Hum-
phrey and Jackson. “I came back from two, three glasses
of wine at the local pub and wrote it off the top of my
head,” Segretti later said. “It wasn’t done for anybody to
believe in the damned thing. It was intended to be out-
rageous. I didn’t expect anyone to believe it.” Nevertheless,
ludicrous as it was, the letter resulted in Segretti being
charged with distributing illegal campaign literature.*

In New Hampshire when news of these pranks spread
through McGovern’s primary headquarters, “there was
mixed reaction — laughter, of course, but also nervousness,”
wrote Kristi Witker, Mankiewicz’s deputy press secre-
tary.** “Who was doing these things? Was it Humphrey,
Jackson, Wallace, or us?” Kristi was not too happy about
the idea of McGovernites putting out such material:

*The use of sexual innuendo against Nixon became standard prac-
tice in The Village Voice. Absolutely phony stories were published
regarding the President and his friends. One reader, Mary Gallagher,
protested in a letter published in the November 1, 1973 issue:
“Sexual guesswork about Nixon and his coterie ... is a smear
tactic at least as shoddy as the Segretti letters used against Muskie
in the Florida primary. . . .”

**Miss Witker’s recollections of the McGovern campagin are con-
tained in a very amusing book entitled How to Lose Everything in
Politics ( Except Massachusetts ) (New York: Mason & Lipscomb,
1974).

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VICTOR LASKY

There were others at our campaign office, though,
who thought a little political sabotage a good thing
and who were quick to take credit for the work itself
or at least some prior knowledge of it. Several cam-
paign workers admitted in amplified tones, that al-
though they couldn’t go into it, they knew our cam-
paign had a spy “very high up” in the Muskie cam-
paign who had been helpful in “liberating” some key
documents as well as coordinating some “unfortunate
events.” It all pointed to Dick Tuck. . . .

But Witker didn’t believe Tuck had been working inside
the Muskie operation. For one thing he was too well
known, “and he was also prominently in evidence at the
McGovern press suite bar. Perhaps he was coordinator of
the unfortunate events. But that didn’t seem likely either,
because only one of these events had the Dick Tuck
touch” — that was when guests at the opening of Muskie’s
New Hampshire headquarters looked down at the bottom
of their coffee cups to read: “McGovern for President.”

That the McGovernites were interested in obtaining con-
fidential intelligence from inside the camps' of their po-
litical adversaries was also made perfectly clear by Man-
kiewicz. Thus Mankiewicz tells how one of his subordi-
nates, Yancey Martin, began collecting stories about how
much money the Lindsay campaign was paying local Black
politicians in Florida, ostensibly for “organization work.”
The implication was that the payments were actually bribes.
When Martin “had a few of the stories nailed down,”
writes Mankiewicz, “we made the story public. It annoyed
the Black leaders who. had not been paid — or who had not
been paid enough — and couldn’t have helped very much
with those Floridians who weren’t yet sure that Blacks
should even vote, let alone be organized.” In other words
the McGovernites — despite their oft-expressed liberalism —
did not mind catering to the racism of some Floridians.

There was apparently even one Liddy-type operation in-
dulged in by the McGovernites. From a favorable April
25, 1972, article in the Wall Street Journal : “It’s some-
times hard for McGovern workers to get hold of [Dem-
ocratic] party lists. In Wichita, a local party leader refused
to allow the lists to be photocopied; but McGovern work-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 325

ers managed to smuggle out the lists at night and copy
them.” Was a break-in in the dark of night involved?

The McGovernites did receive “one piece of political in-
telligence from within the Humphrey camp” which, ac-
cording to Mankiewicz, turned out to be worthless. “A few
weeks before the primary election, someone purporting to
be a Humphrey ‘insider’ told us that a private plane at the
Burbank airport was at the disposal of the candidate and
that he would fly in it to Las Vegas to pick up a substantial
cash contribution to his campagin. The informant even
gave us the plane’s registration number. There was a plane
at Burbank with this number, and there it stayed through-
out the campaign. . . The point is that the McGov-
ernites did check the story out, obviously hoping somehow
to embarrass Hubert Humphrey by linking him to shady
characters in Las Vegas.

Somehow the story managed to leak out. And one of
those who heard it was none other than Dr. Hunter S.
Thompson of Rolling Stone , the affluent organ of the
Counter-Culture. Since the story was second-hand by the
time it got to him, he decided to check it out. Finally, as
he explained in his book,* Dr. Thompson decided, “for
reasons better left unexplained, at this point — that the
only two people even half-likely to know anything about
such a bizarre story were Mankiewicz and Dick Tuck.”
Unable to raise Tuck on the horn, Thompson managed to
trap Mankiewicz outside the McGovern press room in
Beverly Hills. He told Mankiewicz what he had learned.
“What can you tell me about it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Mankiewicz. Then, as an afterthought,
“When’s your next issue coming out?”

“Thursday.”

“Before the election?”

“Yeah, and so far I don’t have anything worth a shit to
write about — but this thing sounds interesting.”

Mankiewicz nodded, then shook his head. “Listen,” he
said. “You could cause a lot of trouble for us by printing
a think like that. They’d know where it came from, and
they’d jerk our man right out.”

“What man?”

*Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail * 72 . (San Francisco:
Straight Arrow Books, 1973).

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VICTOR LASKY

Mankiewicz did not say. But the implication is obvious.
The McGovernites had a man planted inside the Humphrey
organization — the “insider,” as Mankiewicz described him
— who was feeding them juicy tidbits about a feared po-
litical opponent.*

Later on the McGovernites sought to obtain intelligence
on Nixon. According to Mankiewicz, he was told by
“guarded telephone callers” at least four or five times that
the shah of Iran had made a secret one million dollar con-
tribution to the Nixon campaign on the occasion of the
presidential visit to Teheran in May of 1972. But Man-
kiewicz said his people did not raise the charge because
“we were never able to produce even a trace of support-
ing evidence.” Not for lack of trying, however. The point
is that the McGovernites were not adverse to digging up
dirt about opponents. Which was one reason why Walter
Sheridan, who had headed up Robert F. Kennedy’s “Get
Hoffa” investigative squad, was hired. Among other things,
according to Mankiewicz, Sheridan was assigned to per-
form background checks on members of the Democrats for
Nixon group headed by John B. Connally. The idea was
to determine whether any of them had legal problems with
the Justice Department.

There was even a plan to plant spies aboard the Re-
publican campaign planes. During the Ervin hearings GOP
investigators produced a sworn affidavit by Richard M.
Cohen, an associate producer for ABC-TV, who said a
McGovern campaign"official had made the proposal. “The
primary purpose of the project was to convey information
from public statements rapidly to the McGovern head-
quarters and a secondary function would be to relate em-
barrassing incidents which might occur” on the campaign
planes of President Nixon and Vice President Agnew.
In his affidavit Cohen said it was Ted Van Dyk who sug-
gested the project and had tentatively agreed to pay him
a salary of $150 a week. Van Dyk confirmed the story.
The McGovern research director said that he had hoped
“we might catch the Vice President in another ‘fat Jap’-
type remark.” But Van Dyk and Mankiewicz decided to

*The Humphrey story can be found in Fear and Loathing. It is an
extraordinary book. Where else could you read about Thompson’s
encounter with McGovern at a urinal in a New Hampshire men’s
room. “How’s it going, Senator?”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 327

scrap the plan after finance director Henry Kimelman ob-
jected to it on financial grounds.

The McGovernites did not hesitate to use rough tactics
against Nixon, according to sworn testimony taken in the
final hours of the Ervin hearings. For example Fred
Taugher, who had been the Southern California cam-
paign coordinator for the Democratic candidate, acknowl-
edged that he had permitted persons planning an antiwar
demonstration against the President to use McGovern
phones for two days to round up support for their pro-
test. According to Taugher, the use of the phones was also
approved by Richard Steams, the McGovern coordinator
for the Western states. Leaflets advertising the anti-Nixon
rally were also permitted to be placed in about 100 Mc-
Govern storefront offices around Los Angeles. The rally,
a noisy one, resulted in the arrest of three people.

The Watergate Committee, in proceedings barely re-
ported by the media, also heard testimony about the dis-
ruption of a Nixon rally in Fresno, California, by members
of the United Farm Workers, a union whose vote-registra-
tion drive had been subsidized to the tune of $52,000 by
the McGovern campaign. And there were witnesses who
told of scurrilous anti-Nixon literature distributed
throughout the country. A Los Angeles student, Michael
Heller, testified about a pamphlet passed out in Jewish
neighborhoods in Los Angeles which stated, “Nixon is
Treyf,” that is, unclean. One line asserted: “Nixon brings
the ovens to the people rather than the people to the
ovens, an apparent effort to link the President’s Vietnam
policies with the slaughter of 6 million Jews by the Nazis.
According to Heller, the pamphlet was passed out by
McGovern workers. The final witness was Jeremiah Sulli-
van, a Boston police superintendent, who described a dem-
onstration that occurred outside a fund-raising dinner in
Boston attended by Mrs. Nixon. Sullivan said the demon-
stration resulted in about twenty arrests and injuries to
nine policemen, as well as considerable damage to prop-
erty.

But the majority Democrats on the Ervin Committee,
like the media, were totally disinterested in any of these
revelations. So in order to save the committee the time it
would take to present first-person testimony, Senator
Baker submitted about forty affidavits for the record, most

328

VICTOR LASKY

of which concerned violence, property destruction, heck-
ling, and disruption committed against Republicans and
Nixon reelection offices during the 1972 campaign.

One affidavit was from Dr. John Lungren, Nixon’s per-
sonal physician, who described a break-in at his Long
Beach, California, office discovered on September 21, 1972.
Lungren said that Nixon’s medical records “were strewn
about the floor” and had apparently been examined and
perhaps photographed by intruders, who disturbed noth-
ing else. No arrests were ever made in the break-in, he
said. No interest was shown in what occurred in the
Lungren office by either Senator Ervin or Senator Weicker,
both of whom, of course, had been up in arms about the
break-in at the Ellsberg psychiatrist’s office. The Lungren
episode was quickly forgotten.

Of course none of these dirty tricks did much to prevent
Nixon’s overwhelming victory at the polls. And likewise
the Nixonite dirty tricks did little more than annoy and
harass the Democrats. Some of the pranks were indeed
gamey; but others were as remarkably inventive and funny
as any dreamed up by the irrepressible Dick Tuck. For
sheer whimsy there was the disruption of a Muskie fund-
raising dinner at the Washington Hilton on April 17,
1972. Segretti and two assistants ordered a $300 supply
of liquor; a $50 floral arrangement; goodies from the
Watergate pastry shop; and 200 pizzas. Two magicians
arrived, one having flown in from the Virgin Islands, to
perform — as they said — “for the children.” Also invited
were a dozen or so African diplomats who arrived, ap-
propriately dressed in national costume, in chauffeur-
driven limousines, the bills for which were submitted to
the Muskie people. But it could have been worse. As
Segretti later testified, “We also made inquiries about rent-
ing an elephant, but were unable to make the necessary
arrangements.”

Testifying before the Ervin Committee, H. R. Halde-
man told how the Segretti operation came about. He said
that presidential aides Dwight Chapin and Gordon
Strachan had come up with the idea of hiring a “Dick
Tuck for our side,” that is, setting up someone to function
independently of the campaign organization in order to
generate the same kind of activities carried out by the
Democratic prankster whose “basic stock in trade was

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 329

embarrassing Republican candidates.” Haldeman added:
“The repertoire of the political prankster includes such
activities as printing up embarrassing signs for the op-
ponent, posing in trainman’s clothes and waving the cam-
paign train out of the station, placing an agent on the op-
ponent’s campaign train to produce witty newsletters mock-
ing the candidates, distributing opposition signs at rallies
for use by members of the crowd, encouraging band lead-
ers to play rival songs at rallies and so forth.” In short the
kind of activities for which Dick Tuck had received enor-
mous — and friendly — press attention.

Chapin and Strachan informed Haldeman that they had
someone in mind, Donald Segretti, an old chum from
USC who was about to leave army service.

Nixon had not been informed of the Segretti operation.
Meeting with Dean on February 28, 1973, the President
referred to the prankster as “such a dumb figure, I don’t
see how our boys could have gone for him.”

“But nevertheless,” he went on, “they did. It was really
juvenile! But, what the hell did he do? What in the (char-
acterization deleted) did he do? Shouldn’t we be trying to
get intelligence? Weren’t they trying to get intelligence
from us?”

“Absolutely!” replied Dean.

The President observed that his rallies had been punc-
tuated by violence. “They threw rocks, ran demonstrations,
shouted, cut the sound system, and let the tear gas in at
night. What the hell is that all about? Did we do that?”

Dean noted that “McGovern had Dick Tuck on his pay-
roll, and Dick Tuck was down in Texas when you were
down at the Connally ranch and set up to do a prank down
there. But it never came off.”*

“What did Segretti do that came off?” the President
said.

“He did some humorous things. For example, there
would be a fund-raising dinner, and he hired Wayne the
Wizard to fly in from the Virgin Islands to perform a magic

*Tuck claimed he had suggested that “when Nixon visited John
Connally at his ranch in Texas, we should have a Brinks armored
truck roll in saying they had come to collect the money, and have
it followed by a laundry truck with Mexican license plates.” The
pointed reminder of Mexican “laundering” of Nixon campaign funds
was not approved, according to Tuck.

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VICTOR LASKY

show. He sent invitations to all the black diplomats and
sent limousines out to have them picked up, and they all
showed up and they hadn’t been invited. He had four hun-
dred pizzas sent to another — ”

“What the hell!” the President broke in. “Pranks! Tuck
did all those things in 1960, and all the rest.”

“I think we can keep the Segretti stuff in perspective
because it is not that bad. Chapin’s involvement is not that
deep. He was the catalyst, and that is about the extent of
it.”

“Sure,” said the President, “he knew him and recom-
mended him.”

“That’s right.”

“But he didn’t run him,” the President noted. “He was
too busy with us.”

Segretti’s appearance before the Ervin Committee came
after senior staff members had spent most of the summer
of 1973 touting the committee’s forthcoming exploration
of dirty tricks. That phase of the investigation would be
even more explosive than the probe of the actual break-in,
it was said. As David E. Rosenbaum reported in The New
York Times , the committee’s lawyers claimed privately
that the testimony would show that the Republicans had
systematically sabotaged the campaigns of the various
candidates for the nomination and had thus engineered
the nomination of McGovern, supposedly the weakest pos-
sible opponent for Nixon.

Finally, after the big buildup, Segretti took the witness
chair on October 3, 1973. A tiny man, he stood 5 feet 4,
had a moon face and a teenager’s voice. Nevertheless ap-
pearances could have been deceiving. After all this was the
man whom Woodward and Bernstein had exposed a year
before in the Washington Post as the alleged Guy Fawkes
of the 1972 campaign, the man who had conducted “a
massive campaign of political spying and sabotage.” The
next day Segretti’s partners-in-pranks, Martin Kelly and
Robert Benz, testified. Kelly told the committee how he
released two white mice and a finch in a room where
Muskie was holding a press conference. He also hired a
girl for $20 to run naked, shouting: “I love Ed Muskie!”
in front of the senator’s hotel room in Gainesville, Florida.
About the most serious thing Segretti confessed to was
sending out that phony letter on Muskie stationery accus-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 331

ing Humphrey and Jackson of totally fictitious sexual mis-
conduct.

“When they had finished their testimony,” reported
Rosenbaum, “it was apparent that what they had done was
tasteless, at times vicious, for the most part humorless and
probably unprecedented in American Presidential cam-
paigns. But it was equally clear that their efforts had made
no difference in the outcome of the Democrats’ nominating
procedure. . . .”

In other words the “massive campaign of political spy-
ing and sabotage,” as Woodward and Bernstein had de-
scribed Segretti’s activities, turned out to be journalistic
hype. All the Ervin Committee could turn up in its “dirty
tricks” phase were largely pranks of a collegiate variety;
and while no doubt they were all annoying to the candidates
and their staffs, they hardly imperiled — as James Reston
once lugubriously put it — the “fragile process” of democ-
racy.

Still the myth persists that the Nixon people helped
nominate McGovern, which McGovern himself described
as “nonsense.” The truth is that the South Dakotan won
the nomination fair and square, by doing better than most
party pols had expected in the primaries, and by attracting
a tremendous number of young people to his banner
because of his position on Vietnam and other social issues.

As for the impact of dirty tricks, McGovern told
Elizabeth Drew in a television interview that “added all
together,” they “probably didn’t influence the primaries
very much. They might have cost a few hundred votes at
some point.”

Of course neither Ms. Drew nor any other interviewer
ever asked McGovern about the dirty tricks performed
in his campaign.

Tuck’s presence was felt at the 1972 Republican Con-
vention in Miami Beach. There he published a daily four-
page newspaper called Reliable Source . His penchant was
printing confidential memoranda written by White House
personnel holed up at the Doral Hotel under tight se-
curity. How Tuck got these documents he has never ex-
plained. But he did obtain what he called a “security”
memo, which had been sent to White House staffers, telling
them how to use the shredders and bum bags. And he
did publish the private phone numbers of all Nixon cam-

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VICTOR LASKY

paign officials. And it was Tuck, as Pat Buchanan re-
called with a chuckle before the Ervin Committee, who
sent a group of pregnant Black women to parade outside
Nixon headquarters in Miami Beach with signs reading
“Nixon’s the One.”

But Tuck never did get the opportunity to reveal the
tricks of his trade. Though interviewed by committee in-
vestigators in September 1973, it was decided by the
Democratic majority that Tuck should not be called as a
witness because most of his mischief was perpetrated prior
to the 1972 campaign — the focus of the committee’s man-
date. One staff member who participated in the interroga-
tion was quoted as describing Tuck as “scared silly.” And
Tuck did not quarrel with that description, saying, “I
won’t kid you — I’m not dying to appear.” He never did.

Once McGovern was nominated, the dirty tricks were
few and far between. However, Frank Mankiewicz did tell
of a few in his appearance before the Ervin Committee.
He claimed that just before a major McGovern rally in
Los Angeles, “every radio station in the city was called
by someone purporting to be from the McGovern cam-
paign, saying the rally had been cancelled. That cost us a
full house.” And he also recalled that “an insulting tele-
phone call was placed to AFL-CIO President George
Meany in June 1972 by someone masquerading as the
McGovern campaign manager, Gary Hart. How much of
Mr. Meany’s hostility to Senator McGovern’s campaign
can be attributed to this or other such incidents is diffi-
cult to measure.”

Then in September 1972 Walter Cronkite called “to ask
if I had telephoned him the day before,” Mankiewicz con-
tinued. “I said no, I had not. He said that he’d had a very
curious call from someone claiming to be me who said,
‘You know, Walter, we have this arrangement where Mc-
Govern gets eighty percent of the coverage and Nixon only
twenty percent and I just want you to know I think it’s
working very well.’ Cronkite speculated the caller might
have hoped he would confirm the existence of some such
arrangement. Cronkite thought perhaps he was being set
up,” said Mankiewicz.

Exactly who was responsible for these pranks was never
learned, but every effort was made to place the blame on
the Nixonites. There were even allegations that the efforts

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 333

of pro-McGovern homosexuals were generated to bedevil
the Democratic campaign. One such allegation was pub-
lished in the Washington Star in an article by John Fialka,
entitled “Odd Events Dogged McGovern,” which stated
that “people presenting themselves as spokesmen for homo-
sexual groups handed out flyers saying ‘Gays for Mc-
Govern* ” — the implication being that the organization
might have been set up to embarrass the Democratic
candidate.

But as Robert W. Corbett pointed out in a letter to the
Star, Gays for McGovern was a “perfectly legitimate cam-
paign group, as was Dentists for McGovern or Black
Americans for McGovern.” Corbett, who had been a
salaried district coordinator for McGovern, and prior to
that an organizer of “gay” groups throughout New York
City, said that Gays for McGovern was organized to do
what the name implied — namely, to campaign for Mc-
Govern in the gay community. “Many noted gay leaders
lent their names to this group. It operated with campaign
funds from New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles.
In New York State, the Walt Whitman Democratic Club
paid the bill for the ‘Gays for McGovern* leaflet.”

It is true the Nixonites kept close tabs on what Mc-
Govern and his people were doing during the campaign.
They set up an “attack group,” composed of White House
and CRP aides, to keep on top of what the Democratic
candidate was saying with the idea of spotting and making
the most of his mistakes and weaknesses. Though the “at-
tack group” was not highly visible, it was no secret. In
fact John Osborne wrote about it at length toward the
end of the campaign, in the October 21, 1972, issue of
The New Republic.

“The original assignment of the attack group was to
get George McGovern down,” said Osborne.

Now it is to keep him down. Its visible way of doing
this is to track his every word and action, partly from
press reports and partly from the personal and more or
less covert observation that occurs in all national po-
litical campaigns. . . . Nixon observers are present
at every McGovern appearance just as — or so the
Nixonites assume — McGovern observers are at every
Nixon and Nixon surrogate performance. The Nixon

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VICTOR LASKY

tacticians have arranged, as they assume their Mc-
Govern counterparts have, to have friendly watchers
and informants in newspaper offices, television and
radio studios and, where and as they can manage
it, among the opponent’s workers and supporters at
campaign centers from the national headquarters
down to precincts.

This is standard campaign procedure, within ac-
cepted political norms.

Despite the intensive exposure of dirty tricks by the
Senate and the media, such practices were continued in,
of all places, the Congress. The victims this time were
conservatives of both parties, who were embarrassed by
bogus remarks inserted in their names in the Congressional
Record . True, an investigation was launched by the FBI to
determine who was responsible for the pranks, but what
was surprising was that the media which was so loud about
hunting down Donald Segretti now had so little to say.

The victims were Congressmen Earl R. Landgrebe of
Indiana, John M. Ashbrook of Ohio, and Otto E. Passman
of Louisiana. The false statement inserted in the Record
in Landgrebe’s name dealt with Nixon’s resignation. In an
irreverent takeoff on Nixon’s farewell address to his White
House staff, the insertion said: “Mr. Speaker, former
President Nixon’s mother was a saint, by his own admis-
sion . . . but he omitted mention of his own saintly
qualities in that wonderful and touching address.” Land-
grebe, who had been a stout defender of Nixon, was also
quoted as saying: “As you know, I was a faithful sup-
porter of our embattled President to the bitter, sour end,
stating even that I would be shot with him if necessary.
Many wonderful people wrote me recommending this
course.” The forged speech had this to say about the
Watergate break-in: “Who, after all, he was [sic] bugging
at the DNC? Leftist fellow-travelers, Mr. Speaker. By God,
I should hope he listened closely.” The material, entitled
“Rectifying the Untimely Removal of President Nixon,”
concluded by suggesting that President Ford name Nixon
as his new Vice President, then resign himself to allow the
former President to again take up the reins of power.

Two pages later, in the section reserved for “extensions
of remarks,” Ashbrook was quoted as praising the new

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 335

military regime governing Chile. “Mr. Speaker,” the
Ohioan was quoted, “I have been disgusted and dis-
mayed by the ranting of the pink fellow-travelers and libral
[sic] dupes in our great Nation against the government
of our military allies in the beleaguered land of Chile.”

Both Landgrebe and Ashbrook protested the forgeries
and Speaker Albert said he viewed the matter “with
extreme concern.” The FBI investigated and came up with
nothing, Albert later informed Ashbrook. Meanwhile Con-
gressman Michael J. Harrington acknowledged that a sep-
arate incident involving another bogus statement attributed
to Congressman Passman, the pro-Nixon Democrat from
Louisiana, had been perpetrated by a few college students
working as summer interns in the Harrington office. Aides
of Harrington, one of the leading House liberals, called
Passman to apologize for what were described as “pro-
fane” remarks. Passman took a philosophic attitude toward
the episode. He told Harrington’s aides, “Don’t be too hard
on the young men who did it.”

Segretti, who apologized personally to Senators Jackson
and Humphrey for the dirty trick he played on them, was
not as lucky. Sentenced to six months in the slammer, he
served four and a half months of that term.

Another story of political shenanigans which broke after
the 1972 election concerned an illegitimate child born in
Fort Wayne, Indiana. The 1941 birth certificate listed the
father as “George S. McGovern of Mitchell, South Da-
kota.” The story surfaced in the summer of 1973, after
someone leaked a memo purportedly from H. R. Halde-
man proposing that the illegitimate child story be given to
the press. Apparently someone else had better sense, for
the story never came out during the campaign.

The Washington Post , however, rectified that. On August
2, 1973, the Watergate-obsessed daily let the world know
of the Haldeman memo and that the senator’s name was
on the birth record. The mother, though conceding she had
known McGovern briefly, denied the senator was the
father. After that the story was generally forgotten.

The Fort Wayne News-Sentinel kept after it however,
and not for reasons of prurience. As editor Davis told
Ron Rosenbaum of The Village Voice , he didn’t give a
damn whether McGovern had an illegitimate child or not,
“although I was convinced he did. What I wanted to know

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VICTOR LASKY

was who had expunged the public record of the copy of
the birth certificate at the Board of Health” during the
1972 campaign.

In other words a cover-up.

According to Davis, the father’s name was “clumsily
eradicated” from the document. And that infuriated Davis.
“I’m concerned about preserving the purity of the public
record,” he said. “If you don’t have that, then where the
hell are you?”

Davis had to get a court order to examine the birth
certificate. When he discovered the mutilation, he sought
to examine the original copy maintained in Indianapolis.
Refused permission, he took the matter to the State Su-
preme Court. There he lost.

“The Nixon contention,” commented Rosenbaum, “that
the press has one standard for him and another one for
the conduct of his opponents is much ridiculed in the press.
But imagine if it was rumored that ‘Richard M. Nixon of
Whittier, California’ was the name clumsily eradicated
from the Fort Wayne copy of the birth certificate. People
would be knocking down the doors of the Indiana State
Board of Health to document the ‘coverup scheme.’ All
in the interest of preserving the public record, of course.”

TWENTY-ONE

Throughout the 1972 campaign there was anguish in the
McGovern camp over what appeared to be massive in-
difference on the part of the electorate toward what was
then being described as the Watergate bugging case. This
despite numerous — and frantic — efforts on the part of
McGovern and runningmate R. Sargent Shriver to make
the case the major issue of the election. Again and again
Senator McGovern made the most stinging attacks on the
President personally, calling him a “bungling, bugging
burglar,” and likening him to Hitler.

Still the opinion polls indicated that most of the public
couldn’t have cared less. And it wasn’t because the Ameri-
can people weren’t informed. Two weeks before the elec-
tion Crosby S. Noyes, writing in the Washington Star , sug-
gested that

it may be that many people see no great difference
between the bugging of Democratic National Com-
mittee headquarters and the systematic pilfering of
secret documents from a whole series of federal
agencies that has become so fashionable in recent
years. ... Far more real political damage has been
done to this and previous Administrations by these
breaches of security than by anything that happened
at the Democratic headquarters.

There was of course Daniel Ellsberg, then under in-
dictment on a number of counts involving the theft of
government property in the case of the Pentagon Papers.
Ellsberg conceded he was aware of the possibility of going
to jail for his actions. But for him, breaking the law was a
matter of political conscience. In the upside-down world of
Watergate, Ellsberg became an heroic figure to a large

338

Victor lasky

number of people and what he did was widely regarded
as a public service.*

“But where does one draw the line between theft in the
public service and plain theft?” asked Noyes. “What is the
real difference between agents and informants who turn
over reams of secret Government documents to sym-
pathetic newspapers and columnists and a crew that tries
to tap the phones and read the mail of the political opposi-
tion?”

Then, too, there was the feeling among many that try-
ing to find out what the opposition was doing had long
been part of the American political scene. “Which,” wrote
Noyes, “may be why the Watergate affair has had so little
impact in spite of the publicity it has received and why
it seems unlikely to affect the result of the election in the
long run.” And as it turned out, despite Watergate, the
American people went to the polls and voted overwhelm-
ingly for Nixon.**

The Watergate affair probably would have run its course
had it not been for the violations of the rights of the
seven defendants at the break-in trial by a federal jurist
whose prior judicial conduct had long aroused the ire of
all true civil libertarians. And a few did protest Judge John
Sirica’s handling — or mishandling— of the case. “It seems
ironic,” wrote Joseph Rauh, Jr., former national chair-
men of Americans for Democratic Action, “that those
most opposed to Mr. Nixon’s lifetime espousal of ends
justifying means should now make a hero of a judge who
practiced this formula to the detriment of a fair trial for
the Watergate Seven.”

The Washingtonian , a monthly of liberal leanings, had a
similar analysis. Listing judges who should be removed
from the bench, the magazine prominently included Judge
Sirica, citing his “careless legal errors, his short temper,

♦“Poor Liddy & Hunt” wrote Pat Buchanan on the Op-Ed page
of The New York Times, August 3, 1973, “if only, like Ellsberg, they
had dropped their stolen papers off at the national desk of The
New York Times, instead of the campaign desk of Jeb Magruder,
they might be sharing the Pulitzer Prize.”

** Asked about Watergate after the election, Senator Tom Eagleton—
McGovern’s original runningmate — replied, “All political parties spy
on one another; the Republicans got caught at it.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 339

his inattentiveness to court proceedings, his misguided view
of the purpose of judicial power, his lack of compassion
for his fellow human beings, and strange as it now seems,
his lack of interest in the truth.” In the Watergate case
Sirica “badgered, accused, and castigated witnesses, prose-
cutors and defense lawyers. He read transcripts of confi-
dential bench conferences to the jury. He used the threat of
lengthy sentences to force defendants into abandoning
their constitutional rights. He turned the trial into an in-
quisition, and justice into a charade.”

Five of the original defendants had pleaded guilty to
burglary. The other two had stood trial and were convicted.
Telling them that they knew more about the case than they
had told, Sirica provisionally meted out sentences of thirty-
five to forty years. If they cooperated and confessed all,
he said he would reconsider the sentences. Not for nothing
was Sirica known as “Maximum John.”

Since then Sirica has basked in the adulation of much
of the media. The fact that “Maximum John” had once
been a close friend of Joseph R. McCarthy — and an ardent
espouser of the late senator’s views — did not deter Mary
McGrory from gushing over “the immigrant’s son who . . .
pried up the rock to show the maggots and worms under-
neath.” In fact Ms. McGrory urged in her column that the
J. Edgar Hoover Building be leveled “with our bare hands,
if necessary” and the ground made into a park named
after “Judge John J. Sirica, the man to whom we owe our
liberty, if we still have any.”

A few civil libertarians were appalled. Nat Hentoff of
The Village Voice for example observed: “When most of
those who are otherwise concerned with judicial fairness
laud a judge for putting on the screws — or are silent — a
dangerous precedent has been set.”

Another surprising entry in the liberal pantheon was
none other than Senator Ervin, who had previously led
Southern filibusters against civil rights laws. But all that
anti-Nigruh stuff was forgotten when the North Carolinian
took over as chairman of the Watergate Committee. The
liberals even forgave him his staunch opposition to the
Equal Rights Amendment, which would grant legal parity
to women, when he let it be known he would show Nixon
no quarter.

340

VICTOR LASKY

The Ervin Committee had its origins in the spadework
done by staff members of Ted Kennedy’s Subcommittee on
Administrative Practices and Procedures. This was back in
October 1972 when James Flug, the subcommittee’s chief
counsel, and Carmine Bellino, its chief investigator, looked
into Donald Segretti’s contacts with the White House.
Apparently deciding it would be best to remain behind the
scenes, rather than be accused of a political vendetta, Ken-
nedy played a key role in convincing Ervin to take over the
investigation.

But it was Majority Leader Mike Mansfield who made
the final decision. He chose Ervin, Mansfield said, because
he “was the only man ... on either side of the aisle who’d
have the respect of the Senate as a whole. We could’ve got
the fist-pounding, free-wheeling boys out there. I don’t
know what that would have accomplished. We’re not look-
ing for a TV melodrama. We’re looking for a good, fair,
impartial investigation.’’

Which is exactly what Ervin did not provide. If ever
there was a partisan investigation, this was it. From the
start it was obvious that Ervin’s main purpose was to get
the goods on Richard Nixon and his associates, and there
were goods to get. When it came to investigating Demo-
crats, however, there was small enthusiasm.

It was a Democratic-controlled show from the very
beginning. The Republicans had tried desperately to en-
large the committee’s scope of investigation from the 1972
campaign to those conducted in 1964 and 1968. They also
tried to get an even break on committee representation,
contending that otherwise the hearings would become a
partisan witch-hunt. The majority Democrats in the Senate
rebuffed them on both counts.

Mansfield may not have been looking for a “TV melo-
drama,” but the hearings were soon converted into a tele-
vision extravaganza providing more entertainment than en-
lightenment. But that was not Ervin’s purpose, according
to his statement authorizing the televising of the hearings.
Though conceding that the coverage could be prejudicial
to the rights of the accused persons, Ervin stated f~' “It is
more important for the American people to know the truth
• . . than sending one or two people to jail.” Especially, the
great constitutionalist added, because “justice has a habit

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 341

of treading on leaden feet.” In other words lynch them —
at least figuratively — since the courts are too slow in
meting out the punishment they deserve.

Likewise much of the press couldn’t have cared less
about due process when it came to those accused in Water-
gate. The Nixon-haters had a field day at the hearings.
Almost maniacal to “get” the administration, some of them
passed questions to senators interrogating witnesses, thus
participating in, rather than reporting, the drama. Dan
Schorr of CBS, for example, got so annoyed with the ques-
tioning of Haldeman that he cornered Majority Counsel
Samuel Dash to tick off a number of questions he said had
been unanswered. The reason for such unprecedented be-
havior was explained by Mary McGrory: “Reporters have
been covering the story for so long they are more familiar
with it than the Senators, and there are such gaps of in-
formation. The reporters can’t get at it, and they hope
the Senators can get it for them.” And few in the press
corps were more exercised over the proceedings than Ms.
McGrory who, Fred Thompson has noted, never smiled in
all those months, for “hers was an all-consuming mission
of vengeance, with every committee member graded by the
number of verbal lashes he administered across the backs of
White House witnesses.” Finally it occurred to the Repub-
lican counsel that McGrory’s attitude may well have been
colored by the fact that, alone among the major columnists,
she had predicted victory for George McGovern in 1972.

Thomas Collins, writing in News day, compared the
Watergate press corps to “an army holding a strategically
vital position. It holds the high ground, so to speak, in the
Battle of Watergate, and its presence symbolizes the fact
that the press has a proprietary interest in this story as it
seldom has had before.”

By and large, according to Collins, the reporters covering
Watergate were “an anti-Nixon crowd” which, generally
regarding the proceedings in the Caucus Room as show
business or “good theater,” developed a cynical tolerance
for the “star” value of Ervin and company. *

In all of this the media had the active cooperation of a
majority staff largely composed of young zealots who made
no secret of their passionate hatred of the administration.
Heavily funded, feeling no compunction about the ethics

342

VICTOR LASKY

of leaking material, and not reined in by Ervin, they made
a mockery of fair inquiry. As Thompson put it, “Here was
a way for a young man on the staff to make his mark in
history, possibly even to bring down a President.”

Directing the staff was Samuel Dash, the chief counsel.
Dash’s liberal credentials appeared to be in order. A Dem-
ocrat who had supported George McGovern, he had also
been a member of Americans for Democratic Action. A
law professor, he had served for a time as a district attorney
in Philadelphia. But that was back in the mid-fifties when
Dash was a more enthusiastic supporter of wiretapping —
much more, in fact, than either E. Howard Hunt or James
W. McCord. “We would be powerless to protect the country
if we couldn’t wiretap,” Dash said at the time. ‘To outlaw
wiretapping is similar to chopping off your head to take
care of the pimple on your nose.” After leaving the DA’s
office. Dash signed on with the Ford Foundation to study
wiretapping. He came away convinced that wiretapping, at
least in the volume he himself had once encouraged, was
not necessarily beneficial. Now he felt that the practice
“leads to corruption ... it affects the quality of life.”

As chief counsel Dash was quickly labeled a nebbish by
certain members of the press who felt that, because of his
bumbling efforts, the hearings would go nowhere. For ex-
ample, as chief investigator of illegal electronic surveillance
Dash hired a San Francisco private eye who it turned out
had himself been convicted in a New York bugging case
in 1966. The private eye was quickly let go.

Then there was Terry Lenzner, who made no secret of
his hatred of the Nixon administration. Lenzner had served
briefly as head of the Office of Legal Services in the anti-
poverty program. Following an internal dispute he was dis-
missed by Donald Rumsfeld, the director of the Office of
Economic Opportunity, for channeling federal anti-poverty
dollars to such groups as the Black Panthers and the Stu-
dents for a Democratic Society (SDS) in violation of OEO
regulations. Previously Lenzner had been a defense counsel
for the Berrigan brothers, the two antiwar priests who had
been indicted for destroying federal draft records.

Another of Dash’s investigators, Scott Armstrong, was a
close friend of Bob Woodward of the Washington Post ,
then running exclusive stories on Watergate based on “in-
formed sources” within the committee. Woodward had

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 343

recommended Armstrong to Dash, after Dash had offered
Woodward a job with the committee.*

And, of course, there was Carmine Bellino, the aging
investigator who had long served the Kennedys. He came
over from Senator Kennedy’s Subcommittee on Admin-
istrative Practices and Procedures, where he had concen-
trated on Segretti’s contacts at the White House.

It was with this band of zealots that the probe into
Nixon misdeeds was launched. And from the beginning the
Ervin Committee itself was guilty of numerous misdeeds,
including the very kind of dirty tricks it supposedly was
investigating. Eventually Richard Wilson enumerated ten
general categories in investigative procedure which, he said,
gave great concern to strict constructionists of constitution-
al rights:

1. Hearsay evidence was unlimited.

2. Opinion and conclusion of witnesses involving the
guilt, innocence and motives of second and third
parties.

3. Moralistic lectures based on political ideology.

4. Invasion of privacy by demands for repentance.

5. Preclusion of fair trial by notoriety via television.

6. Accusation without corroboration.

7. Bullying and ridicule of witnesses.

8. Immunity to tell all to the TV jury but not to the
grand jury.

9. Repetition ad infinitum for censorious effect.

10. Bible quoting for discrediting effect.

“Some of the foregoing practices in the Ervin committee
bear upon Constitutional rights of accused persons and
others relate merely to common decency,” wrote Wilson.
“In both areas the sky has been the limit under the Ervin
doctrine that it is better to expose and destroy than to
convict by due process.”

On the other side of the ideological fence Nat Hentoff
made the point that the Ervin hearings ought to be regarded

"“Armstrong, who had known Woodward from their days at Yale,
was best man at Woodward’s wedding. Later he went to work for
Woodward and his collaborator, Carl Bernstein, as a researcher for
their second book, The Final Days. After that he was hired by the
Washington Post as a reporter.

344

VICTOR LASKY

by his fellow liberals critically and skeptically. “Yet in the
current celebratory anti-Nixon atmosphere, nearly all the
criticism of what’s happening to due process comes from
the right. The left will have its hangover when the cycle
turns.”

And somewhere in the middle of the ideological spec-
trum Professor Theodore J. Lowi of Cornell University
raised the question, “Are liberals only concerned about
legality and justice when the cause of action affects the
Left?” Lowi, author of The End of Liberalism, added,
“Liberals ought to have joined in the defense of the Water-
gate witnesses. They should have been clamoring for the
rebuke of the Ervin Committtee and its staff.” As for Ervin
himself, Lowi said that the senator “sounds like Congress’s
keeper of the Constitution only because so few others are
ready to stand up and call his Bible-bearing bluff. . . . The
Ervin Committee seems to recognize no limits at all.”

Rarely did the committee demonstrate its extreme par-
tisanship more clearly than in its treatment of Richard
Moore, special counsel to the President and a man uni-
versally respected in and out of the White House. Moore
was called at the suggestion of White House Counsel Fred
Buzhardt. The purpose was for Moore, a former television
executive of unblemished reputation, to refute John Dean.
Dean had testified that while he had told the President all
he knew about the break-in and cover-up on March 21,
1973, he believed that the President was aware of the cover-
up as early as September 15, 1972.

Prior to his appearance Moore met privately with Len-
zner and Thompson to go over his testimony. What he
planned to put on the record, Moore said, was the meeting
he had had with Dean in which the White House counsel
had flatly told him that the President was not aware of the
cover-up before March 21, 1973, six months after the date
Dean had cited in his testimony. Moore also said that fol-
lowing the March 21 meeting, Dean had said the President
was genuinely surprised at Dean’s information.

But the subject was not brought up the next afternoon
Vhen Lenzner began questioning Moore in public session.
The first question he asked was, “Do you have a recollection
of a meeting on March 14, 1973, at 8:30 in the morning
also attended by Mr. Kleindienst and Mr. Mitchell?”
Moore was visibly taken aback. He had no such recol-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 345

lection. Lenzner kept boring in. He asked a series of
questions totally unrelated to the main issues. As Thompson
later recalled, “It was an effective trial lawyer’s tactic:
challenge the witness’s memory on collateral matters; if he
does not remember those, perhaps his memory can be
challenged on the matters at issue.”

The next morning Thompson took over the questioning.
By this time Moore had regained his composure, and re-
sponded forthrightly to questions about his meeting wtih
Dean. His testimony was not only clean, it was significant.
He repeated what he had told Thompson and Lenzner at
their original interview — namely, that Dean had told him
that he was convinced the President was in the dark about
the cover-up activities prior to March 21, 1973.

Confirming Moore’s impression of Dean’s state of mind
during this period was Egil Krogh, chief of the White
House “plumbers.” Krogh, interviewed by Mike Wallace
of CBS, said he was convinced from conversations with
Dean that President Nixon did not know about the cover-
up as early as Dean claimed he did. Krogh told of a two-
hour meeting he had with the then White House counsel on
March 20, 1973, and he quoted Dean as saying, “Bud, the
President is being badly served. He just doesn’t know
what’s going on.” Significantly Krogh’s testimony on this
point had not been sought by the Ervin Committee.

By now the Ervin Committee was routinely engaged in
character assassination of White House witnesses. Most
times the witnessses were too terrified to protest. One
White House aide, speechwriter Patrick J. Buchanan, ap-
peared at the hearings unafraid. Accused beforehand,
through the usual leaks to the press, of being a “dirty
tricks” strategist, Buchanan sprang from his corner at the
opening bell and punched his inquisitors silly — with justifica-
tion. In a prepared statement he noted that the committee
had not granted him the elementary courtesy of notifying
him that he would be called as a witness before the news
was flashed over television. “Of greater concern to me,
however, has been an apparent campaign orchestrated
from within the committee staff, to malign my reputation
in the public press prior to my appearance. In the hours im-
mediately following my well-publicized invitation, there
appeared in the Washington Post, The New York Times ,
the Baltimore Sun, the Chicago Tribune and on the national

346

VICTOR LASKY

networks, separate stories all attributed to committee
sources alleging that I was the architect of a campaign of
political espionage or dirty tricks.”

“Mr. Chairman,” Buchanan went on, “this cover cam-
paign of vilification, carried on by staff members of your
committee, is in direct violation of Rule 40 of the rules of
procedure for the select committee. . . . Repeatedly I have
asked of Mr. Dash and Mr. Lenzner information that they
might have to justify such allegations. Repeatedly, they have
denied to me that they have such documents. When I
asked Mr. Lenzner who on the committee staff was re-
sponsible, he responded, ‘Mr. Buchanan, you ought to
know that you can’t believe everything you read in the
newspapers.’ It was his joke and my reputation. So it seems
fair to me to ask, how can this select committee set itself
up as the ultimate arbiter of American political ethics if it
cannot even control the character assassins within its own
ranks?”

When Buchanan finished, Ervin “deplored” the use of
leaks to smear innocent people, as did Dash, but both
professed an inability to check them. “I know of no staff
member who has done it,” said Dash. “I have searched to
find such staff members if there were any. We have had a
problem like this before and I think we all know that the
problem of leaks is one that isn’t always to be solved.”

Buchanan proceeded to demolish the committee, standing
up to Dash and even one-upping Ervin. When the senator
invoked Andrew Jackson, the witness noted that President
Jackson had been the “father of the spoils system.” De-
claring that the Watergate break-in had been “a crime”
and that electronic surveillance had no place in politics,
Buchanan insisted that none of the strategems, overt or
covert, which did have a White House imprimatur had
exceeded the limits of time-honored political traditions.
His only regret was that the “exaggerated metaphors” in
his private memos (“We ought to go down to the kennels
and turn all the dogs loose” on Senator Muskie) had be-
come public property. *

♦Only William Satire in his column in The New York Times noted
the “dangerously illiberal turn” the committee had taken in ques-
tioning Buchanan about memos dealing with political strategy. “The
search is no longer for unethical acts that require legislative
remedies, or for ways to ‘get to the truth’ about Watergate. . . .

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

347

And as Buchanan pointedly reminded the committee,
campaigns do cause some extreme rhetoric, such as Mc-
Govern’s comparison of U.S. war policy in Indochina with
the extermination of the Jews, and Nixon with Hitler. But,
of course, the committee had no intention of looking into
that. Asked what kind of political activity he advocated,
Buchanan responded, “Anything that was not considered
immoral, unethical, illegal — or unprecedented in previous
Democratic campaigns.”

With one exception the Republicans on the committee ap-
peared to enjoy Buchanan’s performance. The exception
was Senator Weicker, the Connecticut statesman who ex-
pressed unhappiness that Buchanan seemed to be lumping
pranks and hardball tactics in with the break-in as if
there were no differences. Buchanan quickly assured the
senator that “I did not consider Watergate a prank; it was a
crime.” The wind out of his inquisitorial sails, Weicker
meekly thanked Buchanan for saying so in public.

When Buchanan left the witness table, the White House
celebrated what one worker there called “the only day of
the hearings I’ve really enjoyed.” And Senator Edward J.
Gurney of Florida, the lone Nixon stalwart among the
panel’s Republicans, proclaimed it “one of the most amus-
ing days” of his life. The Democrats, however, were not
that amused. Senator Herman Talmadge of Georgia, char-
acterizing the day’s proceedings an “unmitigated disaster,”
wondered how long the committee planned to continue its
hearings.

Following Buchanan’s appearance, Senator James Buck-
ley of New York sent a letter to Ervin asking him to put
members of his staff under oath to discover who was
leaking damaging material about prospective witnesses.
Ervin declined to do this for a number of reasons, among
which were his concerns that a search for leakers would
“divert” the committee from important tasks and that it
would hurt staff morale. Imagine Buckley’s surprise, there-
fore, when he read in The New York Times of November
20, 1973, a dispatch reporting that an investigator had been

What right does any arm of Government have to demand to know
the political strategy, past or present, of any party or individual?
Would it be a good idea to send the FBI over to Senator Kennedy’s
office to ask for the file on his political strategy? . . .”

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VICTOR LASKY

suspended because Sam Dash believed he was the source of
an article that was highly critical of the committee staff.

The article, by Timothy Crouse, entitled “Senators,
Sandbaggers and Soap Operas,” was published in Rolling
Stone . Quoting anonymous sources, it presented a far
from flattering picture of the behind-the-scenes work of the
committee.

When Dash read the piece and saw “that bit about his
being an egomaniac, he went bananas,” a staff member told
The New York Times . “There was no stopping him. No-
body else who mattered gave a damn but Dash.” With
Ervin’s permission Dash dropped everything to launch a
full plumbers-type search for the culprit who had leaked
to Rolling Stone. After a week Dash discovered that the
leaker was none other than Scott Armstrong, the investiga-
tor whom he had hired at the suggestion of Bob Wood-
ward. What to do about it caused a split within the commit-
tee. Some investigators demanded his dismissal; after all,
he had cast discredit on their work. Terry Lenzner, however,
urged Armstrong’s retention. Finally in a Solomon-like de-
cision Dash ordered him suspended from the staff without
pay for a month.

Almost immediately Weicker — whom Rolling Stone had
referred to as one senator who “does his homework” —
praised Armstrong and offered him a job on his own
separate investigative team.

Despite Armstrong’s temporary suspension the problem
of leaks continued to bedevil the Ervin Committee. So
much so that when Dash sent out a rough draft of the
final report to the member-senators, he appended a memo
warning the staff to protect security on the document
Dash noted that CBS correspondent Dan Schorr “has told
us that he has been promised a copy of the draft by a
member of the Committee as soon as it is received. I am
sure this is merely a boast, but I would urge very careful
security of the draft. . . . Each draft has a control number.
At the staff level, we have ‘shredded’ working papers and
are keeping a few copies of the draft (for editing purposes)
tightly secured. . .

The irony of the situation apparently was lost on Dash,
the plumbers whom the committee had been investigating
for so many months had been organized to plug leaks,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 349

and much had been made of the way in which, shortly after
the Watergate arrest, G. Gordon Liddy had been seen
headed for the shredder with various documents. Now, it
turned out, Dash himself had employed a shredder.

But the greater irony was that while Dash was busy
plugging the possible leak to Schorr, another CBS cor-
respondent, Lesley Stahl, somehow obtained a copy of the
report and promptly put it on the air.

Another irony was that as chief counsel of a committee
probing dirty tricks, Sam Dash himself was not averse to
playing one on Republican staffers. With Ervin’s approval,
Dash told them to take a holiday during the Memorial
Day recess. He did not tell them he and other Ervin people
intended to write the committee’s final report during that
period and present it to them as a fait accompli.

“When Fred Thompson and the committee returned
from the Memorial Day recess, we had a draft of the final
report ready for them. Fred seemed resentful and insisted
on his staff going over each section . . .

Probably the biggest leaker was Weicker. For a Republi-
can, the senator was an oddity. He had actually fought for
his job on the committee while most Republicans were
running the other way. From the very beginning Weicker
operated on his own with a team of five investigators who
became known as the Third Front. Also from the very be-
ginning Weicker made no secret of his intention of “getting”
Richard Nixon.

Ironically Weicker had been elected to the Senate with
Nixon’s support. At the behest of the President’s chief
political adviser, Murray Chotiner, money from a secret
White House fund collected for the 1970 congressional
campaign was siphoned off to aid a duly appreciative
Weicker. As a result Weicker held Chotiner in high esteem.
When Chotiner died in 1974, one of those prominent in
attendance at the Washington Hebrew Congregation ser-
vices was Weicker. (Also there was President Nixon, bid-
ding farewell to an old comrade; such are the vagaries of
politics.)

Weicker had made his way into the Senate through a

* Chief Counsel: Inside the Ervin Committee (New York: Random

House* **! 976).

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VICTOR LASKY

fluke. He ran against two opponents. The endorsed Dem-
ocrat was a freelance clergyman and ADA Poohbah named
Joseph Duffey; but a great many unreconstructed Democrats
preferred the incumbent Tom Dodd, who had been cen-
sured by his peers on charges most people by now have
forgotten. “It was a delightful campaign,” wrote C. H.
Simonds in The Alternative. “While Weicker went about
portraying him as a one-man Weatherman bomb-and-orgy
squad, poor Duffey devoted his scanty energies to referee-
ing staff disputes over whether or not to bill himself as
The Reverend; Dodd, meanwhile, bumbled along with chin
up and smile bright and every hair in place. . . . And so
Weicker went to Washington, giving the last laugh to Dodd,
who must be laughing still as he beholds the pompous
clowns who censured him, yawning and squirming through
his successor’s weepy tirades.”

In one programmed outburst during the Watergate hear-
ings, Weicker — making sure the cameras were focused on
him — had cried out, “Republicans do not cover up, Re-
publicans do not go ahead and commit illegal acts, and God
knows Republicans don’t view their fellow Americans as
enemies to be harassed; but rather I can assure you that
Republicans . . . look upon every American as a human
being to be loved and won.” At the same time he denounced
the White House for allegedly seeking to smear him,
claiming that Charles Colson had been leaking nasty things
about him to the press. Naturally Weicker was opposed to
leaking. Except of course when he did the leaking. For, as
it turned out, Weicker and his staff were feeding out con-
fidential materials to press people on an almost daily basis.
Weicker’s arrogant disregard of the rules shocked most of
his colleagues. As columnist Nick Thimmesch observed, the
senator “acted every bit as high-handed as anyone in Nixon’s
White House ever did and could have well been a Water-
gate himself if he had the opportunity.”

Consider, for example, the dirty trick he played on
Colson. Having heard the senator’s emotional outburst on
television, Colson immediately called Weicker’s office. But
the senator would not take the call, insisting through his
secretary that Colson appear at his office the next morning.
That meeting became almost as celebrated as the TV hear-
ings. When Colson and lawyer David Shapiro an^ved,
they were surprised to discover five men seated around the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 351

senator’s desk. And Weicker looked even angrier than he
did on television.

“Sit down, Mr. Colson,” Weicker growled, barely rising
to shake Colson’s outstretched hand.

Seeking to soothe the Senator’s ire, Colson began to
speak. “Senator, I appreciate your seeing me. I think there
has been some mistake. I’m not the fellow who tried to
stir up stories about you in the press.”

Weicker ignored the statement and began denouncing
Colson for the other White House actions. Both men
raised their voices in anger. Finally, leaning across his
desk, Weicker shouted, “You guys in the White House
make me sick. I don’t know you — but I do know what you
stand for, Mr. Colson, and we live in two different worlds.
I deal in hard-nosed politics; you deal in crap. You make
me so mad, I’d like to break your Goddamn nose.”

Rising to his full 6 feet 4 inches, the senator came
around the desk and pointed to the door. “You make me
sick,” he roared. “Get your ass out of my office.”

Within hours a transcript of the supposedly private en-
counter was circulated among reporters, and aides to the
millionaire senator told newsmen that Weicker had thrown
Colson out of the office after the twelve-minute meeting.
The story was played prominently in newspapers across
the country. As Colson later wrote.

In the whole sordid Watergate struggle, the Weicker
episode for me was the most unpleasant; being falsely
accused before millions on national TV, then coming
almost to blows with a United States Senator. I was
used to playing as rough as the next guy, but Water-
gate was creating a madness I had never witnessed in
twenty years in Washington, reducing political moral-
ity to the level of bayonet warfare.

A previous example of the Washington madness had
been provided by Weicker in using confidential IRS records
for his political purposes — this, after denouncing the Nixon
administration for purportedly doing the same thing. The
IRS, the senator stated, had been “behaving like a lending
library,” passing out the tax reports of celebrities to any-
one in government overcome by curiosity about these peo-
ple’s financial affairs. “Clearly this is not material that

352 VICTOR LASKY

should be in the hands of anyone but the taxpayer and
the IRS,” he said, addressing himself to the tax deficiency
claims against these notables.

Whereupon the self-proclaimed “idealist” made available
to newsmen confidential tax information on audits of John
Wayne, Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, Jerry Lewis,
Richard Boone, Lucille Ball, and Ronald Reagan, all of
whom, it seems, had trouble with the tax collector. The
Weicker material included specific amounts assessed against
each for back taxes. But what was perhaps not coincidental
was that the senator saw fit to disclose confidential informa-
tion only of persons who were known to have supported
Nixon. Weicker’s implication was that the White House
had been using the tax intelligence to protect Nixon’s
friends. All of which aroused Vermont Royster to note in
the Wall Street Journal:

Since we would have known none of this except for
the gossiping of Senator Weicker, I can’t help wonder-
ing how this fits in with his splendid sentiment that a
person’s tax information ought not to be bandied about
to the curious. And that set me to wondering too about
the Senator’s views on the tax returns of Richard
Nixon, which have hardly been kept as a private matter
between the taxpayer and the IRS.

John Wayne had the last word. In a telegram fired off to
the publicity-hungry senator, the nation’s number one box
office star at the time said: “Senator Weicker, for your in-
formation, I have never asked for, nor have I received IRS
favors, nor have I needed them. What I need is protection
from cheap politicians like you. The IRS has reviewed my
taxes annually and I deeply resent your using your sen-
atorial privilege in throwing my name around.”

From the very beginning of the Watergate probe Nixon’s
critics insisted that the President could demonstrate his
willingness to cooperate in the search for truth by permit-
ting his top aides to testify before the Ervin Committee. So
Nixon permitted his aides to go before the senators, and
only one — John Dean — sought to implicate him. All the
others either insisted that the President had not been in-
volved in the scandals or swore that they had no knowledge
that he had been involved.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 353

“Looking back over the testimony,” commented the Wall
Street Journal, “its outstanding feature is the total lack of
corroboration for Mr. Dean’s account.”

In later years when he had more time to think, H. R.
Haldeman often wondered how he, a perfectionist, permit-
ted a man like Dean to get on the WTiite House staff. “If
I had seen Dean’s FBI dossier it would have barred him
from the White House. Allegations about a conflict-of-
interest charge, however slight, involving his prior affiliation
with a law firm would have been enough to concern me
about the smoke, whether or not there was any fire.”

Haldeman was referring to the fact that Dean had been
fired from his first job as a lawyer for “unethical conduct.”
But when Dean was hired at the White House, his once
angry boss softened the recollection to “a basic disagree-
ment” within the law firm.

Later on Dean admitted that he had removed $4,000
from the White House safe without permission, ostensibly
to pay for his honeymoon. And as Barry Goldwater once
told Nick Thimmesch, he couldn’t understand why “that
little bastard” had to do that “because he always has had
plenty of money.” The senator knew Dean through Barry
Jr., who was his classmate at Staunton Military Academy,
a neighbor in Alexandria, Virginia, and best man at Dean’s
second wedding.

As Nixon increasingly found himself enmeshed in the
web of Watergate, Dean purred his way into the President’s
favor, in addition to committing crimes. But when the going
got tough, Dean got going. In order to “save my ass,” as
he later put it, he turned informer, going first to the U.S.
Attorney’s Office and then to the Senate committee. And
with him he took various White House documents which
he had secreted away in his safe deposit box.

One of those documents came to be known as the Huston
Plan. The plan, so named because it was developed by an
interagency committee chaired by White House aide Tom
Charles Huston, recommended mail covers, electronic sur-
veillance, and even clandestine entries — as preventive law
enforcement measures against violence-prone political ex-
tremists. Bearing the signatures of the top officials of CIA,
FBI, Defense Intelligence Agency, National Security
Agency, and each of the military intelligence services, this
plan was signed by the President on July 23, 1970. Five

354

VICTOR LASKY

days later, on July 28, 1970, it was withdrawn at J. Edgar
Hoover’s insistence.

Contrary to opinion voiced during the Ervin hearings,
however, the measure was not aimed at domestic dissenters
or political demonstrators. It was aimed mainly at the ex-
treme left, which by 1970 was growing in prominence,
numbers, and degree of violence at an alarming rate. It was
aimed at the kind of individuals who were murdering
judges in their courtrooms and policemen on their beats.
It was aimed, too, at the kind of minds responsible for
thousands of bombings of buildings, including the United
States Capitol, resulting in millions of dollars of property
damage and several deaths. And it was aimed at organiza-
tions whose members hijacked American planes to Cuba
and Algeria, and murdered an Israeli diplomat outside his
home in suburban Chevy Chase.

But there was another motivation behind the Huston
Plan. As Huston himself later explained, “a handful of
people can’t frontally overthrow the Government. But if
they can engender enough fear, they can generate an at-
mosphere that will bring out of the woodwork every re-
pressive demagogue in the country. Unless this stuff was
stopped, the country was going to fall into the wrong
hands.”

Thus the. plan was not at all the product of wild-eyed
reactionaries. Rather it was conceived as an effort to spare
the nation from the threat of a violent clash between the
New Left and repressive demagogues seeking to fill the
vacuum left by a government powerless in the face of mount-
ing violence.

In any event the Huston Plan was quickly vetoed by the
President. But Nixon’s short-lived approval, in the face of
Huston’s caveat that some of the proposals could be con-
sidered illegal, was later to form the basis for one of the
three articles of impeachment voted against him by the
House Judiciary Committee.

“In fairness,” as William V. Shannon observed in The
New York Times , “one also has to say that each of Mr.
Nixon’s several predecessors at least as far back as Franklin
D. Roosevelt might also be subject to impeachment on the
same grounds. . . . There was nothing really new or un-
precedented in the methods proposed in the 1970 plan.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 355

They had at various times in the past been used against
native Communists, gangsters and foreign agents.”

As it turned out, the intelligence agencies had already
been doing what the plan proposed — and neither Nixon
nor Huston had any knowledge that these activities were
being pursued independently. Surreptitious entries for ex-
ample, which had begun in 1942, continued right through
1976. One of them involved an illegal break-in at the head-
quarters of an Arab organization in Dallas, Texas, and,
according to former Associate FBI Director Mark Felt,
may well have helped save the lives of several Jewish
targets.

But none of this came through during the hearings
conducted by Ervin. Rather the Huston Plan was made
to appear to be part and parcel of the Watergate syndrome.
Ervin and his colleagues had apparently decided that the
fact that Huston had once worked for Nixon’s White
House was prima facie evidence of his complicity in some
plot to turn the United States into another Chile. Despite
his professed concern for due process Ervin did not permit
Huston a chance to present his case before the public.

Then came the revelation that Nixon had taped his
White House conversations. The critics roared that only by
releasing the tapes and submitting to interrogation himself
could the President prove his innocence. Suddenly the sworn
testimony of all the witnesses seemed to become meaning-
less. All, that is, except Dean’s; his testimony the critics
liked.

And what they particularly liked was testimony which
had absolutely nothing to do with Watergate or the cover-
up. Ears perked up when Dean began talking about so-
called enemy lists. There were several of these. One was
compiled by a member of Colson’s staff and, according to
Colson, was intended primarily for the use of the social
and personnel offices in considering White House invitations
and appointments. But the major list, as it turned out, was
put together by none other than Dean himself. Under the
heading, “Dealing with Our Political Enemies,” he wrote
these immortal words:

“This memorandum addresses the matter of how we can
maximize the fact of our incumbency in dealing with per-
sons known to be active in their opposition to our Ad-

356

VICTOR LASKY

ministration. Stated a bit more bluntly — how we can use
the available Federal machinery to screw our political
enemies.”

Disclosure of the “enemy lists” was enough to set pre-
sumably serious people to talking about how close the
United States had come to being a “police state.”

Among the names on the “enemy lists” were those of
members of the Senate, the House, and the news media.
But some of the senators listed by Dean as “enemies” took
the trouble to deny they ever had been blacklisted by the
White House, among them Clifford Case and Jacob Javits,
both of whom had at times voted against Nixon programs.
In fact Case issued a statement on the subject: “I am
unaware of any discriminatory treatment by either the
President or the White House staff. The President has al-
ways been most cordial to me personally. The White
House went out of its way to make clear it had no interest
in a primary contest for the seat I held. And in the im-
portant area of judicial and U.S. attorney appointments my
suggestions, almost without exception, have been accepted.”

Later on it developed that Dean had prepared another
list, this one of McGovern supporters, which he had trans-
mitted to the IRS with a request for special audits of their
returns. But IRS Commissioner Johnnie Walters took the
matter up with Treasury Secretary George P. Shultz, who
told him to “do nothing.” According to Shultz, Walters’s
notes showed that Dean had informed him that the Presi-
dent had no knowledge of the list.

In this case Dean’s only avenue for getting a tax audit
on one of the President’s “enemies” was to write an anony-
mous letter to the IRS.

Still the lists proved exceedingly embarrassing to the
President. For, as Nixon later observed, “they must have
been prepared by idiots.” Some of the names included
were those of Nixon supporters; for example, much to his
amazement, Dr. Michael DeBakey, the Houston heart
specialist, discovered his name on one of them. Purely by
coincidence DeBakey was scheduled to visit with the Presi-
dent shortly after his name was publicized. “I don’t regard
myself as an enemy,” DeBakey said at San Clemente. “I
was surprised to learn of it. I didn’t know what it meant.”
Neither did the President.

Subsequently a congressional committee — headed by

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 357

two Democrats, Representative Wilbur Mills of Arkansas
and Senator Russell Long of Louisiana — took a long, hard
look at how the IRS had treated the White House “ene-
mies.” The conclusion by the staff of the Joint Committee
on Taxation was that a number of “ ‘enemies’ either were
not audited or were audited too leniently.” Even more
startling was the finding that a number of those on the lists
had not even bothered to file income tax returns. And,
according to the report, there was no evidence that audits
of so-called enemies were on the average conducted more
harshly than normal. “Indeed, if anything, the opposite is
true. Several individuals on the lists appear to pose col-
lection problems for the IRS. The service has been quite
lenient in granting extensions to file in many cases, and
has not yet attempted to collect taxes from several political
opponents who have failed to file returns or even to ascer-
tain the reason for failure to file.”

In other words those lucky enough to have been in-
cluded in the White House lists seem to have had a good
chance of getting away with nonpayment of income taxes.
Some police state.

As the Ervin hearings drew to a recess in August 1973,
it was becoming apparent that the committee was flounder-
ing. Both Ehrlichman and Haldeman had plainly stymied
the senators. As Haldeman suggested, the hearings may
have created a climate so deficient in perspective that the
eye of a fly becomes a terrifying object And, as the
Washington Star noted,

once again, the committee and its staff displayed
their frustration. Senator Weicker especially rose to
new heights of outrage. Majority Counsel Dash got
himself in trouble. . . . Put a lot of this down to just
plain weariness. But not all of it. We venture to say
that the Ervin Committee had become a little too full
of itself, a little too eager to take on, and bring down,
the two men who already are fixed in legend as the
big, bad guys of the Nixon White House. Why, it
might be asked, wasn’t the Committee equally eager
to put John Dean through such a wringer?

With the growing air of frustration and conflict within
the committee the feeling developed that public opinion

358

VICTOR LASKY

was beginning to swing toward the embattled President.
Committee members themselves began to sense a signifi-
cant backlash. The folks back home were openly wondering
whether they weren’t hounding the President. And perhaps
even more fatal for the committee, general boredom — now
that the principal witnesses had testified — was beginning to
set in.

The Wall Street Journal commented:

The President’s critics are starting to worry that they
may not be able to pin the cover-up on him after all.
So they point to the spending on his homes. If that
starts to slip away, they point to the ITT anti-trust
case. If that falters, on to the Cambodian bombing
and on and on. So impeach Nixon, they suggest, re-
gardless of his specific culpability in Watergate — im-
peach him, indeed, regardless of his specific culp-
ability in any of the successive charges.

The longer these charges are analyzed, the Journal went
on, “the less black-and-white they become. They involve
various insensitivities and misjudgments, but none of them
looks much like a gross breach of American law or demo-
cratic tradition, if it is placed in its true context. But as
attention flits from one allegation to the next, none of
them is placed in any context at all.”

As an example the spending on presidential security at
San Clemente and elsewhere

is discussed as if the assassination of John F. Kennedy
had never taken place. In the wake of that tragedy
Congress passed laws calling for open-ended spending
on presidential security. The great bulk of the ques-
tioned spending was clearly pursuant to the hang-the-
cost intent of those laws or simply to provide the
necessarily elaborate communications. Yet, by now it
seems the public is persuaded the entire $10 million
somehow went to line Mr. Nixon’s pocket, though in
fact efforts to specify an improper expenditure seem
to have foundered.

Similarly, the most minute attention is focused on
who knew what about the ITT case, but no one steps
back to look at the whole picture: Here was an anti-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 359

trust case based on legal theories previous Democratic
administrations would not touch, and which had been
uniformly unsuccessful in the lower-court jousting
with ITT. The Government settled the case on the
basis of the largest divestiture in history, and a ten-
year ban on future major acquisitions by ITT. It will
take a great deal of minutiae to persuade us this was
a sell-out.

With regard to the Cambodian bombing, also, there
was a war going on. If Presidential power as Com-
mander-in-Chief means anything at all it must mean
he can bomb troop concentrations of an enemy with
whom we are in active combat. International law,
also, clearly considers it irrelevant that such hostile
concentrations are on the territory of a third na-
tion. . . .

Now, it is far from our intention to absolve the
Administration of all blame in any of these incidents.
. . . But nothing here strikes us as ... an impeachable
offense. Except for Watergate itself, indeed, the in-
cidents strike us as the normal mistakes, coincidences
and embarrassments that would turn up if opponents
guided by turncoats were turned loose on the record
of any Administration that has ruled for four years,
especially four years as difficult as the last four have
been.

The inconclusiveness of the hearings proved disconcert-
ing to much of the media which had sought to establish
direct presidential culpability in Watergate. And while the
public appeared to be turning against the inquiry with a
huge yawn, the media had no alternative but to keep the
story alive. As Richard Wilson wrote:

What will happen, if the trail is lost before it
reaches the Oval Office, is that the press will be held
guilty of as great and dangerous an excess of zeal as
has been charged against the Nixon Administration.
Nixon’s statement that a systematic effort has been
made to destroy the President of the United States
will be engraved on the mastheads of powerful news-
papers along with their record of Pulitzer prizes.

360

VICTOR LASKY

So the battle lines were fully drawn. At stake was not
only the fate of the President but the power of the press.
One or the other would have to emerge triumphant. There
was no turning back. The die was cast.

By then, however, Nixon was facing a new challenge —
this one from the Watergate Special Prosecution Force
headed by Archibald Cox. Despite pronounced misgivings
the President had gone along with Cox’s appointment. That
was the price he had to pay to get Elliot Richardson ap-
proved as his new Attorney General.

Nixon was not unaware of Cox’s ideological proclivities.
A longtime Kennedy partisan, Cox had been described as
the “informal dean of the Kennedy brain trust” during the

1960 campaign. And following that election, JFK had
rewarded him with the post of Solicitor General — the third-
ranking job in the Justice Department. Cox’s liberal cre-
dentials were demonstrated anew in 1968 when he headed
a commission to investigate disorders at Columbia Univer-
sity. The Cox group decided that while the students ought
not to have been violent, their irascibility resulted from
their grievances and, therefore, the university administration
was to blame. Four years later Cox was an avid McGovern
supporter. Shortly before he was designated special pros-
ecutor, Cox made remarks critical of the administration’s
policies on civil rights and civil liberties at a news con-
ference in California. Moreover he acknowledged such
“philosophical and ideological” differences with the Justice
Department that he felt he could never consider taking a
job there.

On May 25, 1973, Cox was sworn in as special pros-
ecutor, armed with full powers to investigate an ad-
ministration which he had previously conceded he person-
ally detested. Among those attending the ceremony were
Ethel Kennedy, Senator Edward M. Kennedy, and his aide
James Flug.

But what disturbed the White House even more was the
news that Cox was loading his staff with former aides to
both John and Robert Kennedy. An ancient vendetta was
taking a new form. In charge of the Watergate task force
for example was James Neal, a Nashville attorney who had
been special assistant to Attorney General Kennedy from

1961 to 1964. As such he helped prosecute Jimmy Hoff a,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 361

a prosecution which led some civil libertarians to question
whether it wasn’t persecution.

Another member of “Cox’s Army” was William H.
Merrill, a chief assistant U.S. attorney during both the
Kennedy and Johnson administrations, who was chairman
of the Michigan Citizens for Robert Kennedy for President
in 1968, and was placed by Cox in charge of the “plumb-
ers” task force. Merrill, who twice ran for office as a
Democrat, told an interviewer, “We’ll set standards of
conduct or show what they could be.” Which, needless to
say, is not the role of a prosecutor. This extraordinary
attitude was carried a step further by Thomas F. McBride,
another former member of the Kennedy Justice Depart-
ment. While heading up the task force examining “cam-
paign contributions,” McBride told the same interviewer
that he saw in his new job the opportunity “to use law
enforcement as an instrument of social reform” possibly
equal to the Progressive movement at the turn of the
century. Which isn’t exactly the purpose of law enforce-
ment.

Eventually Cox’s staff numbered eighty or so. Armed
with a superbroad mandate, the Kennedyite lawyers were
assigned to probe an enormous range of potential trouble
areas in the weakened Nixon presidency — most of them far
afield from the Watergate break-in. No rumor or false
implication was too wild for the investigators to dig into.

With avid Kennedyites fully expecting to be gnawing
away at the administration for three and a half years, a
confrontation was unavoidable. No government could en-
dure a continual inquisition constantly refueled by leaks of
information. The noose was out for Nixon and he knew it.
At the same time he was facing a crisis in the Middle East
— one that could conceivably lead to World War III. On
the eve of Yom Kippur the Egyptians staged a surprise
attack on Israeli positions across the Suez. The Israelis,
after setbacks, began to hit back. But they were running
short on materiel. At this juncture, given the risks in-
volved, Nixon made a courageous decision. He ordered a
massive military airlift to Israel. Also courageous was his
decision to face down the Soviet threat to send troops to
the Middle East unilaterally. He ordered a worldwide alert
of U.S. forces. And though that helped cool the crisis, the

362

VICTOR LASKY

President got precious little credit. For his enemies were
now suggesting that the U.S.-Soviet face-down was just a
Nixon effort to divert attention from his troubles. As we
now know, the suspicion was totally without foundation.

It was during the Mideast crisis that the President also
decided to get rid of Cox. The President had agreed to a
compromise on the White House tapes which he believed
conformed to a memorandum the Court of Appeals had
made public “asking Mr. Cox and the President’s lawyers
to agree on some compromise which would avoid a sharp
constitutional encounter.” Seeking a quick resolution to the
Watergate affair, the President accepted a plan whereby
the respected Senator John Stennis of Mississippi would
prepare a verified version of the subpoenaed tapes. The
plan won the approval of Chairman Ervin and Howard
Baker. And, just as important, it was a compromise dear to
the heart of Attorney General Richardson. But Richardson
wasn’t able to sell it to his old Harvard teacher Archie
Cox. All of which led to what the White House chief of
staff A1 Haig was to call “the day of the firestorm.”

Saturday, October 20, 1973, had been a beautiful, crisp
autumn day. It began with Cox going before the cameras
to announce he was not buying the Stennis compromise.
The White House considered this defiance and the President
felt he had no choice but to order Cox’s dismissal. Rich-
ardson and his deputy, William Ruckelshaus, then re-
signed, even though both of them had approved of the
compromise. Richardson in fact made clear in a letter to
the President that his resignation was not a protest against
Nixon’s action, the reasons for which he fully “respects.”
Rather, he said, he was resigning for the formal and hon-
orable reason that he had assured the Senate that Cox
would have certain rights which the President had felt it
necessary to revoke.

All that Saturday evening the news bulletins repeatedly
interrupting the prime time television shows made the na-
tion’s capital seem like downtown Santiago. From the
frenzied, breathless, on-the-spot reporting on the tube,
one would have thought that the storm troopers had seized
control. The fact that the President was well within his
rights in dismissing Cox — a fact noted by Yale Law Pro-
fessor Alexander Bickel, among others — was completely

IT DIDN’T START WITH' WATERGATE 363

overshadowed by hysterical comments such as that of Ed-
mund Muskier “It smacks of dictatorship.” Senator Ken-
nedy called Cox’s firing “a reckless act of desperation by a
President who is afraid of the Supreme Court, who has no
respect for law and no regard for men of conscience.”
Generated by the hysteria of the media, an avalanche of
telegrams calling for the President’s impeachment or
resignation descended on Washington. Editorials, even in
hitherto friendly newspapers, condemned the President
across the land. The Chicago Tribune , while warning against
the reaction becoming “hysterical, inflammatory and di-
visive,” called the President’s action “the worst blunder in
the history of the presidency.”

Yet, as the Washington Star pointed out,

Mr. Nixon has broken no law, defied no court, pad-
locked no legislature, muzzled no member of the
press. The jackboots that some observers seem to hear
echoing in the streets of Washington are largely in
their own minds. ... In short, we could use a little
more gravitas in the treatment of the President of the
United States. There has been too much slander, in-
nuendo and loose rhetoric about Mr. Nixon’s possible
deeds and presumed motives. He has yet to be found
guilty of anything other than having underlings and
associates accused and some guilty of misdeeds. Nor
is he, insofar as we know, mentally unbalanced, an
insinuation which some have made. . . . Thinking men
used to hold that the blood of kings can be shed, but
never lightly. Richard Nixon is not our monarch but
he is our president, and the only one we happen to
have. To destroy him out of pique, at the cost of
destroying the nation, would be a shallow victory for
some and a defeat for all.

Barely seventy-two hours after firing Cox, Nixon re-
versed his position and agreed to provide Judge Sirica with
subpoenaed tapes. On hearing the news, Cox went straight
to the offices of Senator Kennedy because, as he explained,
“I don’t have any office any more.” A week later, appearing
before the Senate Judiciary Committee, Cox conceded he
was guilty of an “inexcusable” breach of confidence in
having passed confidential information concerning the ITT

364

VICTOR LASKY

case to Kennedy, among others. The information, acquired
when Cox was special prosecutor, had come from former
Attorney General Richard Kleindienst. Yes, Cox told the
Senate committee, he had broken his word to Kleindienst
by letting the secret information drop in relaxed conversa-
tion with Senators Kennedy and Hart, and two of their
aides. “Of course,” he said, “I shouldn’t have done it. It
was carelessness, not malice.” Somehow the information
had found its way onto the front page of The New York
Times. Cox denied he had leaked the story. As did the two
senators.

In effect Cox had weakened his image of impartiality
and had given the administration an issue to use in trying
to justify his dismissal. Deputy Press Secretary Gerald
Warren said that the leak “makes clear to us at the White
House his partisan attitude that has characterized his ac-
tivities in recent months.” And he pointed out that of the
ten top lawyers on the Cox staff, all but one had strong
Democratic connections. Republican Senator Hugh Scott,
who had condemned the Cox dismissal, also denounced
the leak as part of a continuing pattern, adding that the
Cox staff is “a hostile adversary staff.”

There had been talk that some members of the staff
would resign in protest. But that was not to be. Instead
most of them remained, voicing suspicions however about
Cox’s successor Leon Jaworski. An LBJ Democrat from
Houston, Jaworski quickly reassured the staff Cox left be-
hind. They were to continue their investigations; and there
would be no “cover-ups.”

Except, of course, those involving Democratic misdeeds.
And that became more than apparent when the new At-
torney General, William B. Saxbe, telephoned Jaworski to
inform him of a file found in his office which revealed
widespread wiretapping during the Kennedy and Johnson
years. After describing the contents of the file, Saxbe
asked Jaworski whether he could use it in his investigations.
According to Saxbe, Jaworski called back later and said no.

At the same time Jaworski made a major decision in the
case of John Dean, choosing not to proceed with perjury
charges, despite a record indicating that Dean had not
always been a paragon of truthfulness.

As an example there was the case of the shredded docu-
ments. On November 5, 1973, Assistant Special Prosecutor

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 365

Ben-Veniste informed Judge Sirica in open court that
“members of our staff interviewed Mr. Dean and questioned
him with respect to the contents of Mr. Hunt’s safe. Mr.
Dean related that at some time in late January 1973, he
discovered a file folder in his office containing the Presi-
dent’s estate plan, two clothbound notebooks with card-
board covers and lined pages containing some handwriting.
Dean at that time recalled that these had come from
Howard Hunt’s safe.”

Dean had said that he never even looked at the contents
of the notebooks, which he had casually “discovered”
while going through a file. And what did he do with these
notebooks, the existence of which was never disclosed to
the FBI? Why, according to Ben-Veniste, “he shredded
both notebooks in his shredder. At the same time he also
discovered a pop-up address book containing some names
with each page X-ed out in ink. Dean threw this pop-up
notebook into the wastebasket at this time.”

Dean’s disclosure that he had deliberately destroyed
evidence caused only a minor sensation. Unlike other
“horrors” attributed to men more loyal to Nixon, the story
was quickly forgotten. The reason was simple. The story
could cast doubt on the veracity of the President’s chief
accuser.

For when he had previously testified under oath before
Ervin, Dean had told a different tale. At that time he told
of how troubled he was when John Ehrlichman had sug-
gested that he “deep six” (or throw into the Potomac)
some of the evidence found in Hunt’s safe. “After leaving
Mr. Ehrlichman’s office,” Dean swore, “I thought about
what he had told me to do and was very troubled. I raised
it with [Fred] Fielding and he shared my feelings that this
would be an incredible action to destroy potential evidence.”

What he did not say, of course, was that he had shredded
the two Hunt notebooks. Instead he told how “everything
found in the safe had been turned over to the FBI” — in
the person of Director Pat Gray. But he had not turned
over “everything found in the safe” to Gray. And that
could well have proved to be Dean’s undoing, as well as a
severe blow to whatever prosecutions depended on his
testimony.

As William Safire pointed out at the time, there was still
another way for Jaworski to determine whether Dean’s

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VICTOR LASKY

credibility was — in legal parlance — “subject to question.” He
could have called Justice Department prosecutors whom
Howard Hunt had told about the notebooks shortly after
his arrest. Late in 1972 they had described the purloined
notebooks to Dean, whose immediate reaction was to deny
any knowledge of them. The denial, of course, was one
reason why Dean felt he had to destroy them.

Despite all this, Jaworski went on television to insist,
“We have found no basis for a perjury charge” against
Dean. Nor was he charged with having lied to federal in-
vestigators, a violation of paragraph 1001 of Title 18 of
the U.S. Code, the statute under which a minor Watergate
figure, Bart Porter, had only recently been sent to jail.

Despite Cox’s ouster, however, thngs did not get better
for Nixon and his embattled subordinates. The power was
now more strongly in the hands of zealous prosecutors, who
believed they could do no wrong because right was on
their side. And what Satire described as a “reign of terror”
ensued. The functionings of the White House were crippled
as dozens of aides were called in repeatedly for questioning
at the fearsome offices of the special prosecutor on K Street.
Civil rights, let alone the amenities, were ignored as the
investigators smelled blood.

To his credit William Greider of the Washington Post
took note of what he described as

a reversal of roles which seems to mock both sides.
The White House men, feared and hated because they
trampled on the Bill of Rights, are now espousing . . .
human conceptions of law and individual liberty, no-
tions of crime and punishment and decent limits of
political power, ideas which some would call liberal.
The reaction is ho-hum.

A lot of liberals, meanwhile, have become law-and-
order zealots, imitating unconsciously the hard-nosed
ethos which they once thought so frightening in Mr.
Nixon’s Department of Justice. People who once
argued that conspiracy indictments are dangerous to
civil rights now spin webs for the Watergate con-
spiracy case. Reformers who wanted to empty the
prisons now grumble about short sentences for the
Watergate gang.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 367

One could almost feel the blood lust. And the White
House responded in kind. Much of the mutual hatred could
be felt at the daily news briefings at the White House.
Illustrative is this exchange, which occurred in December
1973 between some correspondents and press spokesman
Gerald Warren. Warren had been asked by Adam Clymer
of the Baltimore Sun whether the White House was in-
volved in any way in the burglary of the home of Jill Wine
Volner, the Watergate assistant prosecutor who at the time
was cross-examining Rose Mary Woods in U.S. District
Court.

“How in the world would I know?” replied Warren.

“But Jerry,” said another reporter, “with all deference,
in following up Adam’s question, I know it does seem
rather silly to be asking the White House about a burglary
that occurred in Washington, but we have heard about
certain burglaries before. Has the White House taken any
steps or contacted the police or contacted the Justice De-
partment or anyone to gather information or make an in-
quiry concerning the burglary . . . ?”

Warren responded, “I would think that the police de-
partment would be the agency which would be qualified to
investigate this matter. If that fine department requests as-
sistance of the Justice Department or the FBI or anyone
else, I am sure that assistance would be forthcoming. But
I thoroughly reject the implication of the questions.”

Then Norman Kempster, of the Washington Star , asked,
“Can you state categorically that no one employed by the
White House now or previously was involved in this
burglary; not in investigating it but in doing it?”

“As soon as the burglary is solved, I will be able to an-
swer that question for you, Norm,” Warren said. “Now can
you state categorically that no one presently or formerly
employed by the Evening Star was involved in that bur-
glary?”

“Yes,” Kempster replied.

“How?” Warren demanded. “How can you do that? I
think this is ridiculous. May we move ahead?”

The briefing moved on, but not ahead.

At a public meeting Walter Cronkite was asked whether
he would “walk the streets of San Clemente” conducting
interviews with President Nixon the way he conducted

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VICTOR LASKY

those with the late President Johnson at LBJ ranch.
“San Clemente or San Quentin?” replied Cronkite.

The crowd roared and Cronkite quickly added, “That’s
wrong. I am an objective newsman.”

All kinds of speculation began to appear in print con-
cerning Nixon’s mental stability, not because of any evi-
dence that there was anything to be concerned about, but
because it was assumed that any man should have cracked
under such pressures. Which explains the play given to the
allegation that Nixon had slapped a man while he was
greeting bystanders at an airport in Orlando. It turned out
that the “slap” amounted to a pat on the cheek, which the
man described as “the greatest honor I’ve ever had ... I
won’t wash my face.” But the damage was done. Many
readers were left with the impression that the President was
losing his senses.

“Nixon’s right,” wrote Nicholas von Hoffman in New
Times. “The media has gone rabid, and pathologically ar-
rogant. You can’t hardly crack open a newspaper or turn on
a TV without getting unsubstantiated garbage leaked out
of a grand jury room, a barroom or some other place where
rumors are trapped and collected.”

As the obsessive assault on the President continued with
even greater intensity, more and more Americans were be-
coming increasingly dismayed and fed up. They began to
call for a resolution of the crisis, one way or the other.
Impeachment no longer was a dirty word.

So foul had the atmosphere become toward the Presi-
dent of the United States by this time that it was difficult to
remember that only a year before Richard Nixon had been
inaugurated for a second term after achieving one of the
greatest landslides in American history. “What they used to
call McCarthyism is now a virtue, because Nixon is the
goat,” wrote the late Senator McCarthy’s counsel, Roy
Cohn, in a commentary for Newsday.

Let’s try to control our killer instincts enough to give
to Nixon the same constitutional and moral pre-
sumptions we would give to anyone else in so hapless
a predicament. If we do, perhaps everything will end
up happily ever after. John Dean can marry Martha
Mitchell, and the Democrats may ride into office in

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 369

1976 on a ticket pledged to restore that credibility
and integrity that will certainly be a major plank in the
platform they adopt at their nominating convention
in Chappaquiddick.

On the other side of the ideological spectrum Eugene
McCarthy also appealed for calm in the growing crisis. In a
speech in New York the former senator said, “little good
would be served by the impeachment of President Nixon —
except to satisfy public outrage over Watergate,” adding
that “impeachment proceedings might interrupt the con-
duct of foreign policy which, with Henry Kissinger as
Secretary of State, has been as good or better than what
might have been supported by recent Democratic Presidents
and candidates.” But McCarthy found scant support for his
heretical views among his former followers, one of whom
said angrily, “That is just too much to take.”

Indicative of the ugly mood was the playing of a
subpoenaed White House tape as a big laugh at a George-
town party. Attorney William Dobrovir, on retainer from
Ralph Nader and several consumer groups, had sued Secre-
tary of Agriculture Earl Butz and others on charges that
the Nixon administration had illegally raised milk sub-
sidies in return for campaign contributions. The suit had
been filed in January 1972. In December 1973, almost two
years later, Dobrovir succeeded in obtaining a recording of
a meeting that the President and other administration
officials had with dairy industry representatives in March
1971. The White House had not claimed executive priv-
ilege for the tape.

Dobrovir borrowed a tape recorder from Fred Graham,
a CBS correspondent, in order to make two copies of the
tape. At the same time he permitted Graham to listen to
the tape on what was described as an “off the record”
basis. Feeling somewhat elated, Dobrovir telephoned a friend
who invited him over to a small party she was having.
When he arrived, he told the guests, “I’ve got in my pocket
the hottest news item in town.”

While the guests were “sitting around the fireplace,
eating salami and chopped liver, having a drink,” (as
Dobrovir later explained) he played the tape. Well, it
wasn’t as good as Dobrovir had advertised. None of the

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VICTOR LASKY

guests could come up with any presidential directive to
raise the milk price for the benefit of the Grand Old Party.
What they did hear, it turned out, was several attempts at
humor on the part of the President, which as yet had not
been suggested as grounds for impeachment

One of the guests was Kevin Delany, an assistant bureau
chief in Washington for ABC News. Delany tipped off
correspondent David Schoumacher, who called Dobrovir
and asked if he could listen to the tape. When Dobrovir
refused, Schoumacher asked, “Well, didn’t you play it at
this cocktail party?”

“Well,” Dobrovir replied, “that was just for fun.”

Fun or not, Schoumacher broke the story on the evening
news. Two days later U.S. District Judge William B. Jones
summoned Dobrovir for an explanation. The abashed
lawyer told the judge, “I made a very foolish mistake.” He
said he was “extremely sorry.” Jones termed the matter
“very serious,” and suggested that if the Justice Department
felt that Dobrovir committed a serious breach of legal
ethics, the case should be referred to the District of Colum-
bia Bar Association. But eventually the matter was dropped.
Dobrovir had gotten away with playing the subpoenaed
tape, an act which even the Washington Post had found
to be incredible. The Washington Star noted that “the
playing of the tape at a cocktail party lends weight to Mr.
Nixon’s argument that executive confidentiality is being
breached by requiring him to turn over Watergate tapes
to courts and investigators.”

Then the story died. There were no follow-ups. Dobrovir
went on to lobby among the members of Congress for the
impeachment of President Nixon for high crimes and mis-
demeanors.

Also overlooked was a speech delivered on November 5,
1973, by Daniel Schorr in Rochester, New York, in which
the CBS correspondent declared: “This past year, a new
kind of journalism developed, and I found myself doing
on a daily routine some things I would never have done
before. There was a vacuum in investigation, and the
press began to try men in the most effective court in the
country. The men involved in Watergate were convicted
by the media, perhaps in a more meaningful way than any
jail sentence they will eventually get. We’ve gotten good
at uncovering those stories we shouldn’t be covering at all.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 371

Luckily, most of what we reported turned out to be true.
I’m proud. Yes, I’m happy. No. We ought to withdraw
from it as soon as possible.”

It was a speech so incoherent that, at times, it sounded
like some of the White House tapes which eventually were
released.

About that time a new leader emerged in the national
spotlight. He was Peter Rodino, who as chairman of the
House Judiciary Committee had begun the process of con-
sidering impeachment of the President. Rodino, an ob-
scure congressman from Newark, New Jersey, had pre-
viously conducted hearings into the fitness of Gerald Ford
to be Vice President. When Ford’s name was finally placed
in nomination, Rodino remarked that never before had any
man undergone such investigation and emerged so well. So
what did Rodino then do? He voted against confirming
Ford.

Later Rodino was to explain that his vote on the floor in
no way reflected on Ford’s integrity or qualifications. Ro-
dino, who represents a largely Black constituency, said he
voted “no” because he had a fundamental difference in
perception with Ford on the government’s role “in serving
the needs of all our citizens.”

“But,” Rodino added, “Jerry wrote me a beautiful letter
afterward.”

TWENTY-TWO

Occupying a prominent spot on the coffee table in the office
of Chairman Rodino was a thick book with a red, white,
and blue jacket. Its title was The Imperial Presidency and
it was autographed by its author, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr.,
as follows:

“To Chairman Peter Rodino, A belated valentine. This
book doesn’t provide answers, but it does lay out some of
our history and it raises some important questions about
the Presidency.”

In the book Schlesinger traced the growth of an au-
tocratic presidency, discussed the Watergate scandal and its
potential impact on the White House, and concluded
that “neither impeachment nor repentance would make
much difference if the people themselves had come to an
unconscious acceptance of the imperial Presidency.”

Schlesinger failed to discuss his own role in selling the
American people on the Imperial presidency. In previous
works he had glorified such strong Presidents as Andrew
Jackson and Franklin Roosevelt and such would-be strong
ones as JFK, arguing for executive prerogative, and con-
tending that Congress was excessively powerful while the
President was hampered by congressional interference. As
the Dallas Morning News observed of Schlesinger’s attack-
ing the growth of presidential powers, “that is roughly
similar to a book by the Boston Strangler attacking the de-
cline of chivalry.”

Schlesinger recognized his problem. So he sought to
draw a line between “a strong presidency within the Con-
stitution” as practiced by his former heroes and the “im-
perial Presidency” of Nixon. The point seemed to be that
FDR and JFK were capital fellows, to be commended de-
spite occasional transgressions. Nixon, however, was a
rogue and should be dealt with accordingly. Of course in

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 373

his partisan approach to history Schlesinger deliberately
failed to recognize that when it came to abuses of power,
his presidential heroes far outstripped the despised Nixon.
More germane was the fact that, faced with a bitterly hos-
tile Congress, press, and intellectual Establishment, Nixon
ultimately became appreciably less powerful than his pre-
decessors, who generally had these auxiliaries working for
them. The “imperial Presidency,” by now, was turning to
ashes.

In Congress many years before coming to public notice,
Rodino had never expected to be courted by the likes of
Schlesinger, one of the nation’s more publicized intellectu-
als. And in all probability Schlesinger had never expected
to be courting the likes of Rodino, a product of the Essex
County Democratic organization. But the stakes were
high. What Schlesinger wanted more than anything was the
consummation of a long-held dream — the destruction of
Richard Nixon, whose very existence affronted the in-
house historian of the Kennedy administration. “Im-
peachment may have grievous consequences,” Schlesinger
had written in Harper's. “Refusal to impeach the President
will have consequences even more grievous and far more
enduring.”

Schlesinger needn’t have worried. One of his pals from
Camelot days was now actually running the impeachment
inquiry. He was none other than John Doar, formerly head
of the Civil Rights Division in Robert Kennedy’s Justice
Department. This of course was the same Doar who, when
informed of the FBI’s campaign to denigrate Martin
Luther King, had done nothing to stop it. And it was the
same Doar who had urged Attorney General Clark in
1967 to seek intelligence information from government
workers in the nation’s Black communities. Doar’s memo-
randum, written September 27, 1967, following the Detroit
riots, led to the creation of a computerized intelligence file
that eventually grew to contain some 18,000 names, main-
ly of Black militants. This was the kind of activity which
Doar and others on the impeachment panel soon sought
to characterize as “abuses of power” under Nixon.

As president of the New York City Board of Education
in 1969, Doar did a switch. He catered to the Black mili-
tants, refusing for example to dismiss extremist teachers
who made anti-Semitic remarks in class. Arnold Forster

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VICTOR LASKY

and Benjamin R. Epstein of the Anti-Defamation League
pointed out that “when William O. Marley, chairman of
the Brownsville Model Cities Committee, in a long anti-
Semitic diatribe, repeatedly attacked Jews as dominant in
the school system . . . there was no challenge from Presi-
dent Doar. . . .”

Doar had not been Rodino’s first choice as special coun-
sel. Initially Rodino had approached liberal Republican
Albert E. Jenner, Jr., of Chicago. But Jenner turned the
job down, citing a backlog in his private practice; instead
he recommended Doar. Eventually Jenner took the mi-
nority counsel post, only after the “Illinois boys” — meaning
Congressmen Robert McClory and Tom Railsback —
“worked hard on me.” Following his appointment with
unanim ous Republican approval, it became known that
Jenner had concealed the fact that the previous fall he
had been co-host at a business breakfast in Chicago for
Senator Adlai E. Stevenson 3rd, an Illinois Democrat.
Jenner, an old friend of the Stevenson family, attended a
fund-raising dinner for the senator and contributed $1,000
to his reelection campaign. Stevenson then had publicly pre-
dicted that Nixon would not “survive three more months
in office.”

Hardly had Jenner been ensconced in his new post when
he made an astonishing appearance on Chicago television,
asserting that the President should be held responsible for
some of the actions of his aides even if he had not known
about them in advance. He went on to cite the activities of
the “plumbers” as the sort of actions for which a President
should be held accountable. The remark, coming just as the
inquiry was getting under way, astonished the Republicans.
If nothing else, Congressman Charles E. Wiggins of Cali-
fornia told Jenner in a letter, no member of the staff should
be making pronouncements of that kind. Instead they
should be maintaining a judicious silence. But Jenner did
not take the hint. He kept on voicing anti-Nixon opinions.

From all this it was obvious from the very beginning of
the impeachment inquiry that the cards were stacked
against Nixon. As William Safire put it on January 17,
1974, “By its choice of counsel, the House Judiciary Com-
mittee has made it plain that it intends to look busy for a
few months and then recommend the impeachment of the
President.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 375

Rodino promised that the committee would work “ex-
peditiously,” saying it would proceed only as fast as “the
principles of fairness and completeness” would allow.
“Whatever we learn or conclude,” he added with a
Churchillian flourish, “let us now proceed — with such care
and decency and thoroughness and honor — that the vast
majority of the American people, and their children after
them, will say: ‘That was the right course. There was no
other way.* ”

The composition of the committee, however, guaran-
teed against fairness. Ignored for the most part by a media
always seeking conflicts of interest was the fact that Rodino
had accepted a whopping $31,000 campaign contribution
from the AFL-CIO, whose leadership was fiercely pro-im-
peachment. In all, according to Representative John Erlen-
bom, an Illinois Republican, the nineteen Democrats on
Judiciary received $189,000 in contributions from labor
unions in 1972 — about 14 percent of their financing.
Rodino incidentally had also received enormous funds from
the milk lobby — though there hasn’t been a cow in Newark
for fifty years.

Revealing too was the fact that of the thirty-five votes
cast in the House against Gerald Ford’s nomination as
Vice President, nine came from the committee’s liberal
Democrats, including Rodino — despite the fact that the
investigation into Ford’s qualifications showed him to be
whistle clean. No wonder then that the White House had
been complaining that these Democrats were as prejudiced
against Nixon as a lynch mob that has already tossed its
rope over the lamppost. Indeed Massachusetts’s Robert
Drinan, a Jesuit priest of liberal credentials, had been the
first congressman to introduce a resolution calling for im-
peachment. And California’s Waldie had backed several
impeachment resolutions. As the hearings got under way,
other members of the committee indicated rather clearly
that they had already made up their minds before hear-
ing any of the evidence.

“Unquestionably,” wrote Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., “one
element in the Democratic drive for impeachment is a de-
sire to humiliate Mr. Nixon, a politician Democrats have
despised for more than a quarter of a century.” Schlesinger
himself had long held a well-publicized hatred for Richard
Nixon, a hatred which often led to such irrationalities as his

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VICTOR LASKY

predicting in the midsummer of 1972 that George Mc-
Govern would win by a landslide.

The clamor for the end of Richard Nixon could be
heard everywhere. “In a very real sense,” wrote Nick
Thimmesch, “we are in a time comparable to the worst
hours of the Joe McCarthy era, for reason is diminished,
and passion flows freely. . . . The difference between that
hysterical period and now is that then one man, Joe Mc-
Carthy, flailed against the world, and now, a world of op-
ponents flails against one man, Richard Nixon. Where have
all the civil libertarians gone?”

Well, the American Civil Liberties Union was still
around. It had mounted a huge campaign aimed at oust-
ing Nixon. As far as the ACLU was concerned, Nixon
was not entitled to the civil liberties of, say, an Angela
Davis. He was guilty even before he was charged.

Charles Morgan, Jr., who was leading the ACLU’s
campaign, told how the impeachment cause was reuniting
a lot of old friends from left of center: “There’s no civil
rights movement. There’s no war. There’s no social-action
movement I hate to use the word, but it’s liberal chic.
Impeachment is there. It’s not ecology, but then whatever
happened to ecology?”

That outstanding liberal Murray Kempton, while sharing
the impulse to impeach, deplored the character of the
ACLU campaign and its stampede-the-Congress strategy.
“We seem to have entered one of those periods when
virtuous men feel driven toward quite vicious devices,” he
observed in a CBS-Spectrum commentary. He noted that
“polluting is a very dubious remedy for pollution.”
Likewise Milton Viorst, no Nixon fan, was shocked at
the antics of organized liberals. He wrote that the im-
peachment crisis was

also exposing some of the worst characteristics of
some of his persistent enemies. ... I wish the ACLU
would go back to worrying about civil liberties. I wish
the National Committee for an Effective Congress
would refocus its attention to the effectiveness of Con-
gress. I’d be happy if the Americans for Democratic
Action thought a little more about democracy. As for
Common Cause, I have the feeling that its cause — the

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 377

impeachment of Richard M. Nixon — has become so
common that it’s humdrum. I admired the organiza-
tion more when it was more selective in its goals.

Impeachment is “an act of religious devotion” for these
liberal organizations, Viorst concluded.

Ironically the John Birch Society was also calling for
Nixon’s scalp. As founding Bircher Robert Welch pointed
out, he had had Nixon’s number as far back as 1958 when
he called the then Vice President one of “the most dis-
ingenuous and slipperiest politicians that ever showed up on
the American scene.” Now Welch, who had also called
Dwight Eisenhower a “willing tool” of the Communist con-
spiracy, contended that Nixon was out to conquer the
world. “That’s been Richard Nixon’s aim for twenty years,”
said the sage of Belmont, Massachusetts, relishing all the
impeachment talk.*

If that wasn’t enough, there began to flow from the
Judiciary Committee a torrent of leaks of material damaging
to the President. And this from a committee whose chair-
man had pledged that the inquiry would be handled in a
fair and even-handed manner, without violations of the
confidentiality of evidence in its possession. It was to be ex-
pected that the White House would seize on the leaks as
coming from, in Pat Buchanan’s words, “nameless, face-
less character assassins.” But even The New York Times ,
which incidentally was publishing the leaked material,
conceded there was a large element of truth in what
Buchanan was saying. “The leakers,” wrote the Times ,
“apparently impatient with the rules of secrecy adopted
by the Committee and presumably anxious to ‘get the
President,’ are subjecting him to trial by the court of
public opinion based upon fragmentary and unrebutted
evidence and analysis.”

One senator did praise those who leaked information
from the Judiciary Committee. Lowell Weicker proudly
announced that he himself had leaked information which
he had obtained from such as Acting FBI Director L.

♦The Birch Society was no stranger to impeachment. Its members
had long called for the impeachment of Earl Warren as Chief Justice
of the Supreme Court

378 VICTOR LASKY

Patrick Gray III. And if he could do it, why not his col-
leagues on the other side of the Hill? The only leaks he
didn’t like were those coming from the White House.

Arousing particular controversy was the unauthorized
release of a series of memoranda prepared by a staff mem-
ber for four of the more vociferous anti-Nixon members
of the Judiciary Committee — Conyers, Brooks, Drinan,
and Kastenmeier. The memos, all of which were particular-
ly harmful to Nixon, were prepared by William P. Dixon,
who had been a coordinator in the 1972 campaign of
George McGovern. Ironically Dixon was also one of those
named in a General Accounting Office report alleging cam-
paign funding violations in McGovern’s Wisconsin effort.

Most of the Dixon material was based on his own
extremely prejudicial interpretation of the White House
tapes, which had finally been handed over to the Judiciary
Committee by an unwilling President. The fact was that
opposite conclusions were reached by different committee
members on the same evidence. A good example of the
confusion engendered over meaning was provided on
June 6, 1974, when The New York Times carried this
headline on its front page: nixon tape is said to link
milk price to political gift. That very morning the
Washington Post front-page headline read: tape provides
no nixon link to milk funds. Which led a somewhat
“startled” Senator Buckley to say on the floor of the Senate
that day, “This experience has shattered my faith in the
infallibility of the undisclosed sources of one or the other
of these papers^ The question that now bedevils me is,
which am I to believe?”

Still the leaks continued, invariably in the President’s
disfavor. There was the report for example that the Presi-
dent, in dictating his recollections of March 21, 1973,
described the day as “uneventful.” March 21, 1973, was a
crucial date; it represented the foundation stone of the
Nixon defense. For that was the day in which, the President
said, John Dean finally leveled with him about the cover-
up. Thus if the President, in recording his impressions,
summarized the day as “uneventful,” the conclusion would
be inescapable and staggering: Dean’s disclosures were not
news to the President; he had already known 1 Such a
conclusion was the one obviously hoped for by the leaker.
Yet the leak, like so many others, was born of calculated

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 379

malice. What the President had actually dictated into his
Dictabelt machine were these words: “As far as the day
was concerned, it was uneventful except for the talk with
Dean.”

Actually the published transcripts show that in the
weeks after March 21 the President appeared to be truly
amazed by the revelations coming his way. Talking to a
friend after he released the documents, Nixon emphasized
how much Dean had withheld from him on March 21.
“What he didn’t tell me was more important than what
he did,” he said, according to William Satire. And what
Dean hadn’t told the President that day was how he had
coached Jeb Magruder to perjure himself; how he had
handled payoff money himself; how he had offered clem-
ency to Magruder and McCord; and how he had shredded
evidence, including notebooks taken from Hunt’s safe.

The foul temper of the times was caught by columnist
Charles Bartlett, who wrote:

Already the raspings of a lynch spirit can be heard
among those Democratic members of the Judiciary
Committee who race out each evening to tell the TV
audiences what they have learned in the committee
rooms. The shallow spirit of contemporary politics
is epitomized by those who seek maximum visibility
to leak to the public what they have been told in con-
fidence. Nixon is going to be quickly absolved by
the public if he is indicted every night on television
by these opportunists.

In short the impeachment proceedings were turning into
a three-ringed circus. “Rodino’s failure to plug these leaks,”
wrote James J. Kilpatrick, “is one more reflection upon
his lack of capacity for his job. ... By serving as a will-
ing ally to the Committee’s hatchetmen, the conniving
newspapers inevitably create the impression that their pur-
pose is not to pursue the news, but to pursue a vendetta
instead. It is an ugly image, harming the press as a whole.”

John F. Bridge, writing in the National Observer , ob-
served that the press had played a very active part in the
Watergate drama, “including the rising clamor for im-
peachment.” And “whether it was too much an active
part and not enough that of a reasonably objective on-

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VICTOR LASKY

looker will be part of the General Accountability for the
media.”

“In my view,” Bridge noted,

there is a widespread attitude that public officials must
be more moral than the rest of us. I have been be-
mused, for example, by a situation in one Washington
suburb dominated by a wealthy left-leaning moral
elite that has been apoplectic over Watergate; high-
level bureaucrats, well-known members of the media,
and concerned professional people. Yet the local lux-
ury grocery has had to put his stock of caviar under
lock and key because of shoplifting; closed-circuit
television cameras scan the aisles at all times.

And Clare Boothe Luce, widow of Time co-founder
Henry R. Luce, in a letter to the editor irately lambasted
Time for its “overinvestment in the destruction of the Presi-
dent” and for its “phobic Watergate reporting.” She added:

No President of the U.S. except Lincoln (in retro-
spect, now to be considered another impeachable
character) has ever been more savaged by the press
than Nixon. . . . And he has shown that he can take
it and take it and take it, with cool and courage. But
few journalists — none on Time — have had even the
sportsmanship, no less the journalistic objectivity, to
report that whatever Nixon is or is not, he is one
helluva gutsy fighter. To be sure, the capacity to take
punishment as well as dish it out is not widely as-
sociated with journalists, which is no doubt why they
do not recognize it as a virtue in Nixon.

Also noteworthy and surprising was the statement of
Archibald Cox, who had been such a hero to the Nixon
critics. “The media,” said Cox, “certainly (are) turning
gradually to a more active role in shaping the course of
events. ... I think it’s true of the Washington Post , The
New York Times , Newsweek . . . and I rather think it
seems to be true of some of the network presentations. It
does seem to me that the selection of items emphasized
often reflects the sort of notion that the press is the fourth
branch of Government and it should play a major role in

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 381

Government. I’m not sure that I want it that way when
there are only three networks — to me that’s an awful lot of
power to give to whoever runs the three networks.” Cox
concluded by noting that he had no grounds for complaint
about the way in which the media had treated him. “In-
deed, they’ve treated me much better than I deserve.”

Ignored by much of the media was a startling remark
uttered by Sam Ervin in a moment of candor. On March
10, 1974, this was the night lead of a UPI story filed out
of Cleveland: “No evidence was produced in the Senate
Watergate hearings to support impeachment of President
Nixon, Watergate Committee Chairman Sam Ervin, D.-
N.C., said Sunday. ‘I think this is one section of the Con-
stitution on which Dick Nixon and I agree,’ he said.”

No evidence to support impeachment, according to
Ervin? Even in paraphrase that was a major assessment
on the part of a senator whose investigations had lasted
many months at a cost of millions of dollars. The UPI
story was written by Pete Spudich. His account was con-
firmed by another reporter present, Bud Weidenthal, of
the Cleveland Press , who wrote that Ervin “also said that
he learned nothing during the long Senate investigation
that indicated to him that Nixon had committed an im-
peachable offense.”

After Nixon’s defenders seized on Ervin’s statement,
the sage from North Carolina panicked. He did what most
politicians do when they commit a blunder: he denied he
ever said it. But the Cleveland reporters stuck by their
guns.

Finally Nixon’s lawyer in the impeachment proceed-
ings, James St. Clair, demanded that the Judiciary Com-
mittee open its secret sessions to the public. The commit-
tee had suffered still another leak and St. Clair argued that
since piecemeal revelations were coming out anyway, it
might as well all hang out.

What had specifically aroused St. Clair’s ire was the
leak of a taped conversation of September 15, 1972, in
which the President had expressed sour feelings about the
Washington Post and lawyer Edward Bennett Williams.
Though the Post was to claim that the remarks constituted
a threat to its valuable television licenses, it was more
plausible to conclude that Nixon was venting his anger.
For at that time Williams was serving as counsel to the

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VICTOR LASKY

Post and to the Democratic National Committee, and that
— to Nixon — hardly looked kosher. “I wouldn’t want to be
in Edward Bennett Williams’ position after this election,”
the President had said. “We are going to fix the son of a
bitch, believe me . . As for the Post , the President pre-
dicted that the newspaper would have “damnable, damnable
problems out of this one — they have a television station
and they are going to have to get it renewed.”

St. Clair called this tidbit “irrelevant” to the impeach-
ment inquiry and claimed that the leak had violated com-
mittee rules and was prejudicial to the President’s case. He
also could well have argued that there was nothing in the
record to indicate that the President had ever done any-
thing about his alleged threat.

All that the leaked story proved therefore was that
Nixon had a temper and was far from being the plastic
man his critics sometimes made him out to be. At times he
could get very emotional; and most times he thought he
could indulge himself in letting off steam. As Haldeman
put it in his celebrated interview with Mike Wallace of
CBS, he and “all the rest of the senior assistants” had felt
that “one of our principal duties had been not to carry out
some of the President’s orders.” He explained, “It was not
a matter of disloyalty. It was a matter of loyalty in not
carrying them out. One of the means by which the Presi-
dent let off steam was to issue orders that were clearly
orders not intended to be carried out.”

Haldeman offered this example: “The President called
me into his room between meetings — he was in a rush —
and he said, ‘I want lie-detector tests given to . . and he
listed categories of people. He said T want them done
today. I don’t want any arguments back’ and he put in
some of his blunter expletive-type language, I guess.

“I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and left because he was mad. I went
out and did not do what he told me to do. And so he blew
up. He said, ‘I told you to get it done and I expect you
to get it done.’ ”

Haldeman then told the President he did not intend
to follow the order because he believed it to be “a bad
idea.”

“I bought the time,” Haldeman told Wallace. “The next
day, he said, ‘What have you done on that?’ and he kind
of laughed and I said, ‘I haven’t done anything.’ And he

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 383

said, ‘I knew you wouldn’t.’ And I said, ‘Well, I knew
you knew I wouldn’t . . .* ”

Secretary of State William Rogers was another who
knew how to resist an intemperate presidential order. As
Satire tells the story in his book on the Nixon years, the
President had received reports about some U.S. diplomats
in Laos who had failed to carry out some White House di-
rective or other. Miffed, the President sent Rogers a note
telling him to “fire everybody in Laos.” Rogers, who had
known Nixon for a long time, let it pass. But some weeks
later the Secretary told the President that he had not car-
ried out his order. Nixon gave Rogers a funny look and
asked what he was talking about. “You said to ‘fire every-
body in Laos,* remember?” Rogers said. “Oh, hell, Bill,”
the President laughed, “you know me better than that.”*

Much of this kind of material appeared in the transcripts
of the Watergate tapes reluctantly submitted by the White
House to the House Judiciary Committee on April 30,
1974. The tapes, of course, were never intended for public
dissemination without the editing out of what Nixon him-
self was later to describe as “blemishes.”

On hearing of the Nixon taping system, Arthur Schle-
singer, Jr., predictably announced he was dismayed. It was
“absolutely inconceivable” that anyone in the Kennedy
administration would get involved in secret recording, he
said. “It was not the sort of thing Kennedy would have
done. The kind of people in the White House then would
not have thought of doing something like that.”

Imagine then Artie’s horror on learning that there were
at least seventy tapes in the Kennedy Library of confiden-
tial conversations made by John Kennedy. “And,” wrote
Bill Buckley, “when they are made public, I am going to
line up and listen to what Arthur said to Jack during the
Bay of Pigs.”

Ironically Nixon originally did not want any tapes at
all. Shortly after he assumed office, he ordered the removal
of the taping system which Lyndon Johnson had left be-
hind. But two years later he installed a new — and more
extensive — recording system, largely at the urging of his

♦Other episodes of this kind are described in detail in the Safire
book, Before the Fall (New York: Doubleday, 1975), probably the
most authoritative written thus far on the Nixon presidency.

384

VICTOR LASKY

predecessor. “President Johnson said that the recordings
he had made of his conversations while President had
proved to be exceedingly valuable in preparing his memoirs
and he urged that I reinstall the recording devices,” Nixon
said.

Of course the transcripts which Nixon was forced to
make public constituted only a minuscule part of his five-
and-a-half-year presidency. And they showed him and his
staff presumably at their worst. Because the transcripts
dealt mainly with Watergate discussions, they necessarily
were out of context. No discussions on domestic or for-
eign policy or the operations of the government, in which
the President could take pride, were released in an effort
to balance the record.

As Haldeman explained, “The conversations we were
having (were) based on a long working relationship, an
ability to talk in shorthand at some times, and other times
to let your hair down and grind through a whole series of
things without really thinking about the enormity of what
you were saying.”

To the disappointment of his bitterest critics the tran-
scripts effectively ruled out the possibility that Nixon knew
of the Watergate burglary in advance. And despite some
ambiguities they generally supported his contention that
he wasn’t aware of the cover-up until Dean enlightened him
on March 21, 1973. (The June 23, 1972, “smoking gun”
tape, which many observers feel constituted prima facie
evidence of the President’s complicity in the cover-up, had
not yet been made public.) In the March 21 transcript, the
question of the million-dollar hush money payment to and
possible clemency for the Watergate defendants arises.
Here the text appears to support the President’s claim that
he vetoed both. The conversation, in which various op-
tions are considered, is long and repetitive. But the con-
clusion was that clemency was impossible, as was black-
mail:

president: . . . But in the end, we are going to be bled to

death. And, in the end, it is all going to come out any-
way. Then you get the worst of both worlds. We are go-
ing to lose, and people are going to —
haldeman: And look like dopes!

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 385

president: And, in effect, look like a cover-up. So that
we can’t do.

Many passages became the subject of dispute. As early
as September 15, 1972, for example, the President con-
gratulated Dean on his handling of the Watergate matter.

president: -Oh well, this is a can of worms, as you know,
a lot of this stuff that went on. ... But the way you
have handled all this seems to me has been very skillful,
putting your fingers in the leaks that have sprung up
here and spring there. . . .

Some commentators immediately interpreted the passage
as indicating that Nixon knew of or at least suspected
high-level involvement. But such an interpretation is incon-
sistent with the March 13, 17, and 21 conversations, the last
being the one in which Dean told the President that “I
have the impression that you don’t know everything I
know.” Nixon’s position on his “fingers in the leaks” state-
ment, however, was that it referred to Dean’s success in
putting off various pending civil suits that could have
been embarrassing as the election approached.

If anything, the 200,000 words that made up the 1,293
pages of transcript showed that the participants in the dis-
cussions were human beings — not cartoon caricatures, fig-
ments of press agentry, or actors before the television
cameras. All their doubts, confusions, fears, and evasions
are displayed — embarrassingly so — with the bark off. Prob-
ably the most realistic, even poignant, statement was made
by Haldeman, whose public image was that of the tough-
est of them all: “We are so (adjective deleted) square that
we get caught at everything.”

Nixon himself comes off as a somewhat beleaguered and
bewildered prisoner of circumstances rather than, as por-
trayed in liberal mythology, the malicious ringleader of a
gigantic conspiracy to subvert the Constitution. What the
transcripts do show is a President loath to move against
longtime associates who somehow had blundered into an
untenable position. The President found himself in a no-
win situation. Had he acted quickly at the very beginning,
he undoubtedly would have been accused of a lack of loy-

386

VICTOR LASKY

alty to those who had served him. Now with the release
of the transcripts the moralists were scornful because he
had not flayed about in righteous wrath.

The inability of much of the media to treat the ad-
mittedly ambiguous transcripts in a fair and reasonable
manner could only be attributed to an anti-Nixon psy-
chosis which, by that time, was out of control. Thus The
New York Times would have had its readers believe that
Nixon never discussed right or wrong with his subordinates.
Therefore the President must have been “immoral.” Here
too the truth is otherwise. For the transcripts demonstrate
the very “moral” concern the President felt about how
to handle allegations that Haldeman and Ehrlichman were
implicated. The issue facing the President was whether
he should dismiss his two most trusted aides — a difficult
decision indeed, since it would also seem to prejudge their
guilt. At one point he says plaintively, “I want to know
what is the right thing to do.” It is difficult to observe
this agonizing without feeling some sympathy. And then
the President told Attorney General Kleindienst, “The Jus-
tice Department and the presidency are going to come out
clean because I don’t tolerate this kind of stuff. But the
point is, Dick, I can’t let an innocent man down. That’s
my point.”

About the only judicious appraisal of the situation in
which Nixon found himself at this “point in time” was
provided by the National Review , the conservative mag-
azine which had not always cottoned to the President’s
more “liberal” policies:

A generation hence, looking back on Watergate, his-
torians are likely to marvel at how much was made
of it, and how White House bumbling made of so
trivial an event the lever by which Mr. Nixon may be
overturned. The original Watergate break-in was
trivial and ridiculous. The original burglars deserved
thirty-day suspended sentences. By the time Nixon got
all the threads, or most of them, in his hand — March
21 — the situation had become a lot messier. The air
is now filled with all manner of resonant phrases:
subornation of perjury, obstruction of justice, high
crimes and misdemeanors, and all the rest of it. The
media have treated Watergate like the biggest thing

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 387

since the wooden horse was insinuated into Troy. But
even the crimes which were committed, and those
which may have been committed, were trivial in
comparison with the political consequences they have
been made to yield.

John Doar however was not satisfied with the transcripts.
He announced that, while he was not charging deliberate
distortion, some of the “unintelligible” passages were in-
deed intelligible to his own experts. For one thing, he
contended, the committee had high-quality playback equip-
ment far superior to that at the White House.

Eventually the committee released its own transcripts.
One of them quoted the President as voicing concern
about someone named “Earl Nash.” This was in a con-
versation on March 22, 1973, with John Mitchell. On
that occasion the former Attorney General had asked
about the general political state of affairs. And according
to the Judiciary version of the tape:

president: Yeah, we’re all doing fine. I think, though
that as long as, uh, everyone and so forth, is a, uh —
(unintelligible) still (unintelligible).

Mitchell: All of Washington — the public interest in this
thing, you know.

president: Isn’t Nash, (unintelligible) Earl Nash worries
the shit out of us here in regard, regarding (unin-
telligible).

MITCHELL: Just in time.

president: But the point is that, uh, I don’t — There’s no
need for him to testify. I have nothing but intuition, but
hell, I don’t know. I, but — Again you really have to
protect the Presidency, too. That’s the point.
mitchell: Well this does no violence to the Presidency
at all, this concept —
president: The whole scenario.
mitchell: Yeah.

The reference to “Earl Nash” sent newsmen frantically
scurrying around in an effort to determine who the
mysterious gentleman was and why he was worrying the
shit out of the President. Finally a librarian at the Los
Angeles Times , after rifling through numerous reference

388

VICTOR LASKY

books, found, “Nash, Harold Earl” in Who's Who in Gov-
ernment. Nash was identified as an underwater sound
expert working for a navy laboratory in New London,
Connecticut. Watergate reporters began to salivate with
interest; an acoustical sound expert, no less.

A reporter called the laboratory. He was told that Nash
was away on assignment with the Sixth Fleet in the Medi-
terranean. Nash was then traced to an apartment in Naples,
Italy. When his phone rang in Naples, there was no answer.
A Military Intelligence officer kept the story alive, how-
ever, by telling the reporter that “the name sounds fa-
miliar.”

But the story of the mysterious “Earl Nash” was finally
killed when Doar’s experts listened again to the tape.
“Earl Nash,” it turned out, was “National Security.” And
that’s what had been worrying the President. What the
episode proved, therefore, was that Nixon was truly con-
cerned that the Watergate disclosures were doing damage
to national security. It was not something that he had
conjured up in a desperate effort to conceal the truth. But
none of the commentators followed this up. The “Earl
Nash” fiasco was quickly forgotten.

There were, of course, deliberate distortions of what was
on the tapes. Probably the most significant was the quote
which had the President saying, “I want you all to stone-
wall it . . Headlines featured the quote. Cartoonists, who
specialize in wrenching things out of context, had a field
day with it. Newsweek featured it on its cover.

But the full quote, as it appeared in the Judiciary
transcripts, was something else again. It came up in the
context of Nixon saying that Eisenhower had been too
tough in firing his aide Sherman Adams. He added:

And, uh, for that reason, I am perfectly willing to —
I don’t give a shit what happens. I want you all to
stonewall it, let them plead the Fifth Amendment,
cover-up or anything else, if it’ll save it — save the
plan. That’s the whole point. On the other hand, uh,
uh, I would prefer, as I said to you, that you do it
the other way. And I would particularly prefer to do
it that other way if it’s going to come out that way
anyway. And that my view, that, uh, with the num-
ber of jackass people that they’ve got that they can

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 389

call, they’re going to — the story they get out through
leaks, charges, and so forth, and innuendos, will be a
hell of a lot worse than the story they’re going to get
out by just letting it out there.

Watergate had more than its share of inaccurate report-
ing. As an illustration Newsweek, in what appeared to have
been based on an interview with Dean, had disclosed that
he would feveal in his public testimony that some “low-
level” White House officials had planned to assassinate the
military ruler of Panama, but that the plan had been
aborted at the last minute. This “exclusive” story constituted
still one more indictment of an “immoral” administration.
The problem was that it just wasn’t true; in fact it turned
out that Dean did not so testify. Significantly Newsweek
neither corrected nor explained this discrepancy.

Still another inaccurate story was bannered across page
one of the Washington Post — hunt told associates of
orders to KILL jack Anderson. And it reported that “ac-
cording to reliable sources,” E. Howard Hunt, Jr., “told
associates after the Watergate break-in that he was or-
dered in December, 1971 or January, 1972, to assassinate”
the columnist. According to the article, Hunt had said
that the order, which came from a “senior official in the
Nixon White House,” was “cancelled at the last minute but
only after a plan had been devised to make Anderson’s
death appear accidental.”

But an investigation of the story by the Senate In-
telligence Committee produced “no evidence of a plan to
assassinate Jack Anderson.” The committee did ascertain
that an effort had been made by Hunt to determine the
possibility of drugging Anderson so as to render him inco-
herent before a public appearance. When Hunt learned of
the impracticality of the venture, the matter was dropped.
The question was whether Hunt had acted on the order
of Colson. This Colson flatly denied. However he recalled
Hunt “on a couple of occasions coming to me with some
hare-brained schemes, something to do with drugging in-
volving Jack Anderson.” But he said he never authorized
any such project. And there is no independent evidence he
did.

The Washington Post “exclusive” — and it really was ex-
clusive — was written by Bob Woodward. And Woodward,

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VICTOR LASKY

along with Carl Bernstein, was the great hero of Water-
gate. The popular perception of the two young reporters
(buttressed by All the President's Men , as well as the film
based on the best-selling book) is that, in the words of the
dust jacket, their “brilliant investigative journalism smashed
the Watergate scandal wide open.” But that isn’t exactly
the truth. As Lester Markel, former Sunday editor of The
New York Times , put it: “The Washington Post's coverage
was not investigative reporting in the real sense because
the original facts were dug up by others.” Or as Nicholas
von Hoffman wrote in the Washington Post , of all places,
about the “brilliant investigative journalism:” “If you
believe that, you also probably can be convinced that if
you kiss a toad, it’ll turn into a prince.”

Woodward and Bernstein did “break” the Mexican con-
nection through which money from the CRP was trans-
mitted to the Watergate burglars. But they did not find
this out through their own investigations; rather they ob-
tained the information from federal and local investigators.
At best they often were able to publish information a few
days in advance of its normal public disclosure. As Ed-
ward Jay Epstein argued in Commentary , “It was not the
press which exposed Watergate; it was the agencies of Gov-
ernment itself.” Epstein in effect dismissed the efforts of
Woodward and Bernstein; they did, “of course, add fuel
to the fire. But . . . they were not the only ones publicizing
the case.”

Their one original discovery actually had nothing to do
with Watergate. It involved Donald Segretti, whose dirty
tricks had nothing to do with the break-in. Yet from the
start of their investigation Woodward and Bernstein be-
lieved there was a direct connection between dirty tricks
and Watergate. Which, in a far-fetched way, was like link-
ing Dick Tuck’s “pranks” with the harassment of Martin
Luther King. There just was no connection. In retrospect it
was the enormous play given the Segretti story by the
Washington Post which resulted in indictments. The au-
thorities felt they had no choice but to go after Segretti
and Dwight Chapin. Thus they would be able to avoid
the cry of “cover-up.” And in the end of Segretti served
time, after pleading guilty to three counts of distributing
illegal campaign literature. Chapin was convicted on two

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 391

counts of perjury for not telling the truth about his knowl-
edge of a misdemeanor. He too served time.

Finally therefore it wasn’t Woodward and Bernstein (or
Redford and Hoffman) who smashed Watergate wide open.
The cover-up began to unravel when James McCord, fear-
ful of going to jail, wrote a letter to Judge Sirica charging
that other persons besides those convicted of the break-in
had been involved. In the final analysis it was Richard
Nixon who ironically helped break the case when he or-
dered his staff, including Dean, to testify before the grand
jury without taking any claims of executive privilege. And
he gave the same order with regard to the Senate Water-
gate Committee.

Little of this can be found in the book All the Presidents
Men , in which Woodward and Bernstein exaggerated their
role as, in effect, the saviours of our freedoms. For a time
they were invested with magical powers by members of
the journalistic fraternity who were looking for their own
heroes.

The very title of their book is misleading. Not “all the
President’s men” were involved in Watergate — that’s guilt
by association with a vengeance. Only a relative handful
of top officials were even accused of wrongdoing. The
book is replete with more specific implications that are
demonstrably false. Dita Beard, for example, is described
as “the author of the famous memo which showed that
there was a connection between ITT’s promise of several
hundred thousand dollars to help the Republican conven-
tion and a favorable antitrust settlement.” The record
shows that Mrs. Beard swore under oath that she did not
write the memo, which she charged was an outright forg-
ery. Moreover the memo itself did not “show” anything,
except perhaps a certain tenuous connection. And con-
trary to popular impression the ITT pledge of money was
not to the Republicans but to the San Diego Convention
Bureau. Moreover the antitrust settlement was far from
favorable to ITT. If anything it was the most stringent anti-
trust settlement in history, a fact conceded even by Archi-
bald Cox. But more importantly Special Prosecutor Jawor-
ski found no wrongdoing in the transaction. So the im-
pression Woodward and Bernstein leave here is decidedly
misleading.

392

VICTOR LASKY

Then there were the “revelations” provided by “a
source in the Executive Branch” dubbed “Deep Throat,” a
nickname suggestive of fellatio. According to Woodward,
the source was so secret that he did not even reveal it to
Bernstein. But whether he ever existed or was a figment of
Woodward’s vivid imagination is a subject still in conten-
tion. Consider the James Bondish melodramatics in the
book; Woodward rushing out at 2:00 A.M. to meet Deep
Throat in deserted garages. Then there were Deep Throat’s
warnings that “everyone’s life is in danger,” and that the
CIA was conducting “electronic surveillance” on the in-
trepid Post reporters. Great stuff for the film, but hardly in
keeping with the record. About the only danger Woodward
faced was the possibility of getting mugged while rendez-
vousing in the middle of the night with Deep Throat. As for
electronic surveillance by the CIA, no such evidence was
ever produced by anyone. But it all played well on film.

Exactly how much did Deep Throat — if he, she, or it,
existed — really know? At one point the secret source pur-
portedly told Woodward that there were “more than fifty”
dirty tricksters, operating under White House and CRP
control, for the purpose of destroying the opposition, “no
holds barred.” And Woodstein published a page-one story,
quoting “sources,” about a massive campaign of sabotage
and espionage aimed at the Democrats. As it turned out, the
story was vastly exaggerated. All Woodward and Bernstein
had to go on were the juvenile antics of Segretti and a
handful of pranksters.

On another occasion Deep Throat claimed that the Nixon
administration had been bugging throughout its tenure
and, therefore, the bugging of the DNC was “only natural,”
the mysterious source adding that “the arrests in the Water-
gate sent everybody off the edge because the break-in could
uncover the whole program.” Woodstein also quoted other
sources as saying that Watergate and Segretti were just
“the tip of the iceberg.” All of which, on the basis of facts
later uncovered by numerous investigations, was highly
exaggerated. There just was no iceberg under the tip.
There was no massive wiretapping operation, no emerging
police state. There was Segretti and his few dirty tricks.
And there were the break-in and the cover-up. But if one
were to believe Woodward and Bernstein, had it not been
for their ceaseless labors, Nixon would have been in-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 393

augurated in January 1977 to the singing of the Horst
Wessel Song.

Woodward and Bernstein did concede making several
errors. One of them was particularly damaging to the
parties involved. Relying on confidential sources, they had
reported that material obtained from the first Watergate
break-in had been delivered to Bill Timmons of the White
House, and Rob Odle and J. Glenn Sedam of the CRP.
This, of course, tied the three men to criminality. “But,”
Woodstein wrote, “the report was incorrect, and the deci-
sion to rush it into print was a mistake. . . . Three men
had been wronged. They had been unfairly accused on the
front page of the Washington Post , the hometown news-
paper of their families, neighbors and friends.” For some
reason the Washington Post never apologized to the men
it had wronged so dreadfully.

Woodward and Bernstein do tell how they sought to
question members of the grand jury about what witnesses
had been saying under oath. The fact that this was in abso-
lute violation of the law seemed to be lost on the intrepid
reporters. Grand juries are supposed to act in secret; and
grand jurors are sworn to secrecy. One of the jurors had
told the prosecutors he had been visited by a Post reporter.
The prosecutors immediately notified Judge Sirica. In-
formed of this, Edward Bennett Williams, counsel to the
Washington Post , instructed Ben Bradlee to direct his two
reporters to “sit tight.” Things looked bad; old “Maximum
John” could well decide to throw the book at Woodward
and Bernstein. But as Bradlee later informed his fright-
ened reporters, “Williams talked to Sirica and to the prose-
cutors; he thinks he can keep you out of the slam.”

Then came an irony normally to be found only in fiction.
The young reporters were called to open court, where
Sirica chided them for their misconduct but never men-
tioned them by name. Despite Sirica’s harsh reputation they
had gotten off scot-free. “In Britain,” commented John
Roche, “they would probably be breaking rocks for a
couple of years, and Ben Bradlee . . . would be on his
knees at the bar of the House of Commons for publishing
their material, apologizing and asking for clemency.”

Thankful that they had not been treated like other law-
breakers, Woodward and Bernstein left Sirica’s courtroom
somewhat confused, amid a barrage of questions from

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VICTOR LASKY

other reporters as to whether they were the “news media
representative” the judge had excoriated. When Dan Schorr
suggested that the judge was referring to them, Bernstein
cried “hearsay, innuendo and character assassination.” Pre-
viously Woodward and Bernstein “had reluctantly agreed
during a rush to the halls that only as a last resort would
they deny the allegation outright; maybe they would, get by
with indignation and artful footwork.” When asked directly
whether they were the culprits, they bobbed and weaved,
refusing to tell the truth. As Woodward and Bernstein re-
port of themselves in the book, “They had chosen ex-
pediency over principle and, caught in the act, their role
had been covered up. They had dodged, misrepresented,
suggested and intimidated, even if they had not lied out-
right.” In short, a mini-Watergate.

More than journalism was involved in the Washington
Post's pursuance of Watergate. Bradlee and publisher Kath-
erine Graham were pictured as having an almost psy-
chopathic hatred for President Nixon. There is Bradlee,
for example, when he learns of the resignation of Halde-
man and Ehrlichman:

For a split second, Ben Bradlee’s mouth dropped open
with an expression of sheer delight. Then he put
one cheek on the desk, eyes closed and banged the
desk repeatedly with his right fist. In a moment, he
recovered. “How do you like them apples?” he said.
. . . Bradlee couldn’t restrain himself. He . . . shouted
across rows of desks to Woodward. . . . “Not bad,
Bob. Not half bad!” Howard Simons interjected a
note of caution. “Don’t gloat,” he murmured, as Post
staff members began to gather around. “We can t af-
ford to gloat.”

An unhappier time for Bradlee had been when he con-
sidered the possibility of Mrs. Graham and others being
subpoenaed for notes taken during the paper’s investiga-
tions. Benjy was beside himself. “Of course we’re going to
fight this one all the way up, and if the Judge wants to
send anyone to jail, he’s going to have to send Mrs.
Graham. And, my God, the lady says she’ll go! Then
the Judge can have that on his conscience. Can’t you see
the pictures of her limousine pulling up to the Women’s

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

395

Detention Center and out gets our gal, going to jail to up-
hold the First Amendment? . . . There might be a revolu-
tion.” So removed from reality was Benjamin Crownin-
shield Bradlee that he could actually conceive of a revolu-
tion over a multimillionaires going to the slammer. Imag-
ine the “wretched of the earth” storming the barricades to
salvage Graham’s limousine!

It took an English press lord to blow the whistle on
press efforts to “crucify” President Nixon. Addressing him-
self to such newspapers as the Washington Post, Lord
Thomson, publisher of The Times of London, declared that
Nixon “was found guilty by newspapers before he was
proven guilty.” And he went on: “This kind of character
assassination is much more difficult in England because
British laws provide more safeguards for a man’s reputa-
tion.”

By that time Nixon’s reputation was being tom to shreds
in other ways. No President since FDR was as reviled,
scorned, and mocked. It had gotten to the point where
there was serious discussion of whether Nixon could take
his dogs on Air Force One without reimbursing the gov-
ernment. Roosevelt, who had actually arranged special trips
for Fala, was able to turn it around, getting the best of
such critics as Westbrook Pegler. Nixon however was in no
position to fight back. And in The New York Times Eileen
Shanahan reported breathlessly that Nixon’s tax accoun-
tant had deducted a total of $224 from Nixon’s gross in-
come in the four-year period 1969-1972 for California
gasoline taxes, thereby saving the President nearly $19.63
a year in federal income taxes. Since Nixon was riding
around in official cars most of the time during those years,
Ms. Shanahan thought the deduction was “seriously in-
flated” — a dazzling insight which, according to William
Rusher, won her the 1974 Prize for Creative Microeco-
nomics: “ones lightly bent safety-pin.”

Meanwhile Nixon was being called every dirty name in
the book: ridiculed at the Kennedy Center for the Per-
forming Arts by a comedian making obscene remarks about
the President’s sexual prowess; served as subject of endless
cartoons and graffiti everywhere; reviled on talk shows, in-
cluding Johnny Carson’s; and denounced in printed expres-
sion, ranging from scholarly knife to four-letter words. A
young man in Saginaw, Michigan, was shown on the tube

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VICTOR LASKY

declaring, “I hate him.” And Nixon-watchers in the media
made no secret of their fear and loathing. They began
scrutinizing the President as the officers of the U.S.S. Caine
scrutinized Captain Queeg, ready to elevate a moment of
irritation into possible mental breakdown. Rumors spread
that Nixon was on drugs; some reporters predicted suicide;
there was even a diligent attempt to find a psychiatrist
Nixon was rumored to be seeing currently. Eventually
Woodward and Bernstein would begin asking close as-
sociates whether it was true that Nixon had been talking
to portraits on the wall of the family quarters. The answers
were not wholly satisfactory — for there were only land-
scapes, not portraits, in the upper floors of the White
House. But that didn’t stop the intrepid Post reporters from
finally quoting Ed Cox (who never talked to them) as say-
ing that his father-in-law had been roaming around talk-
ing to portraits of former presidents in the last days.*
Respected newspapers which used to glory in relaying
only news fit to print now published falsehoods in their
campaign to topple the President. Thus The New York
Times , in a front-page story by Seymour M. Hersh, re-
ported that the President had been heard to utter anti-
Semitic and other ethnic remarks on taped conversations
he had had with Dean on February 28 and March 20,
1973. Hersh had gone ahead with the story despite denials
by the White House and, perhaps more importantly, by
James Doyle, press officer for the special prosecutor. Doyle
had listened to the two tapes in question and had not heard
the President indulging in slurs. But Hersh went ahead any-
way, reporting that Nixon had referred to “Jew boys” and
had called Sirica a “goddam wop.” Actually, as it later de-
veloped, it was Dean who used the phrase “Jewish boys” in
talking to the President. As for “goddam wop,” the Presi-
dent’s words on the scratchy recording in fact were “That’s
the kind I want,” a reference to Sirica’s reputation as a
tough jurist. There was an unfortunate Nixon reference to
Jews in the arts — “they’re left wing” — in the so-called
smoking gun tape of June 23, 1972. Talking to Haldeman,
the President had recounted some upsetting experience en-

*Of The Final Days John Osborne, one of the more respected cor-
respondents on the Washington scene, wrote in The New Republic:
“It is on the whole the worst job of nationally noted reporting that
I’ve observed during forty-nine years in the business.”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 397

dured by his daughters while visiting art galleries and the
like. Nixon didn’t want them scheduled for such locales in
the future. “In other words, stay away,” he said.*

The Hersh story sent quivers of excitement down the
spines of Nixon-haters. Writing in the New York Post , Pete
Hamill called on New York’s “wops” and “Jew boys” to
prepare a counterattack against Nixon. He wrote that the
President’s “disregard for the Constitution” was such that
tomorrow, if not today, the President could direct “a
military coup d’etat” from Washington; Governor Wilson
and Mayor Beame should immediately

begin planning a program of self-defense. . . . (They)
should order all New York police and National Guard
units to draw up a plan of resistance. ... In addition,
there should be a system that would enlist civilians as
. . . defenders of bridges, tunnels and airports, while
others are charged with maintaining the supply of
food and water. We should find out how many arms
we have available and how many more we would need
to fight a long siege. In short . . . New York will fight.
If he sends his soldiers, there will be a lot of tough
‘wops’ and ‘Jew boys’ and Irishmen and blacks and
Puerto Ricans waiting for them with machine guns.

The Judiciary Committee was not the only committee
guilty of engaging in trial by leaks. The Senate Watergate
Committee, which seemed to be finding it impossible to get
off the stage, continued to leak like a sieve.

On June 11, 1974, Archibald Cox denounced the tactics
of the committee as similar to those used by the late
Senator McCarthy. Cox accused intellectuals and the press
of deliberately failing to point out and to denounce these
similarities. “Should not the same objections be raised when
the staff or possibly some members of the Ervin Committee
leaks the result of incomplete investigations, gives out the
accusatory inferences it draws from secret testimony and
even releases proposed findings of guilt upon men under
indictment and awaiting trial?” he asked.

•Though Nixon derided left-wing Jews in the arts, he appointed a
widely respected right-wing Jew, Dr. Ronald Berman, to head the
well-funded National Endowment for the Humanities.

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VICTOR LASKY

Almost from the beginning a group of majority staff
members led by (who else?) Carmine Bellino began look-
ing into the $100,000 that Howard Hughes had turned
over to Rebozo for transmission to the Nixon campaign.
According to Rebozo, he kept the money in a safe deposit
box at his Key Biscayne bank. And the reason he didn’t
turn it over to the Nixon committee was because of the
internecine battle raging within the Hughes empire. “I
didn’t want to risk even the remotest embarrassment of
Hughes’ connection with Nixon,” he said. He was con-
vinced, he added, that the Hughes loan to the President’s
brother Donald had cost Nixon the 1960 election and
“didn’t help him in 1962 in California” when he ran for
governor. In June 1973 Rebozo returned the money intact
to Hughes. An examination by the committee bore out
Rebozo’s contention that he had returned the very same
bills he had placed in his deposit box three years before.
But the finding was difficult for the anti-Nixonites to ac-
cept. They just knew, deep down in their bones, that some
sort of chicanery must have been involved. The fact that
there was no such proof did not curb their tongues or their
typewriters.

The investigations into Rebozo’s financial affairs broad-
ened. As a consequence enormous amounts of taxpayers’
money were expended on what turned out to be fruitless
efforts to “get” Rebozo. As Fred Thompson reported in
his book,* “Members of the majority staff became highly
competitive, because the one who achieved the break-
through might be able to question witnesses at a public
hearing. The same desire for glory . . . required that the
hearings be prolonged. So staff members passed the word
to the press and to Senators on the Committee that a
breakthrough, like prosperity in the Great Depression, was
just around the corner.

“During this process of staff politicking, the elements of
fairness and respect for individual rights frequently suf-
fered,” wrote Thompson. “Rebozo was a particular target
and an easy one. By the time the staff concentrated on

*At That Point in Time, the best account thus far of the behind-
the-scenes shenanigans, as well as partisanship of the Watergate
Committee, this book was even praised by Sam Ervin for its honesty.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 399

him, Nixon had been severely wounded, and no one stepped
forward to defend the rights of Nixon’s best friend for
fear that he might be accused of being soft on Nixon.”
Rarely had such a witch-hunt been conducted against a
single individual. According to Thompson, staff members
were constantly flying down to Key Biscayne to interview
Rebozo. They traveled in pairs, sometimes in threes.
“Sometimes one team would interview Rebozo for four,
five, or six hours; a few days later another group would
arrive and go over the same material with Rebozo, seem-
ingly unaware of what their colleagues had done.”

Rebozo cooperated completely. He gave the staff access
to his records. But every time a batch of records was ex-
amined, stories would appear in the press quoting sources
“close to the Committee,” none of which was ever flatter-
ing to Rebozo. “One day,” Thompson reported, “Carmine
Bellino examined the records of all the loans Rebozo had
made over a period of several years. The next morning at
9:30 the Miami Herald began calling each of the lending
banks to verify information . . . about the loans.”

Then there was the time the ABC network reported that
the probers were checking into an allegation that Rebozo
was running a “private investment portfolio” for the Presi-
dent. The fund, according to ABC, contained “more than
one million dollars” in unreported political contributions
from “two international corporations.” Without na mi ng
ABC, the President angrily denied the charge at a press
conference and claimed the network had broadcast the
story “knowing it was untrue.” ABC’s executive vice
president Bill Sheehan countered: “If we do find that we
were in error, we will broadcast a correction. So far, all the
facts stand up.” It turned out that the facts did not stand
up, but ABC never broadcast a correction.

What particularly distressed Rebozo was the harassment
of members of his family as well as business acquaintances.
Another target was his longtime lady friend. Their financial
records over a six-year period were subpoenaed. At the
same time people to whom he had written checks in that
period were questioned. Most of those interrogated, be-
wildered by the gung-ho tactics of the young probers, were
forced to hire lawyers. “At a Committee meeting,” wrote
Thompson, “when I asked what six-year-old business rec-

400

VICTOR LASKY

ords had to do with the 1972 presidential campaign, I
never received an answer. By this time, the staff members
realized they were really answerable to no one.”

The investigators, who had obtained the toll records for
11 telephones Rebozo had used in this six-year period,
questioned him about 400 telephone numbers, asking
whom he had talked to and about what. Staff members
also cased his bank, seeking to determine who entered or
left the premises. Unable to get the answers they wanted,
two of them told a respected trust officer of the bank,
“We’ll see that you get immunity if you’ll tell us the truth.”
One immediate result was a decided falling off of bank
business. At the same time Rebozo gave up some of his
business endeavors rather than involve his partners in his
problems. Essentially a private person, Rebozo found him-
self the target of scurrilous articles in even respected news-
papers.

And yet not one word of protest was ever uttered by
any of the nation’s civil libertarians. The American Civil
Liberties Union said nary a word.

Fred Thompson did seek to protect Rebozo’s rights.
More than once Thompson raised the issue with Ervin. In
view of the fact that the Senate had limited the investigation
to the 1972 campaign, he asked, what gave the committee’s
staffers the authority to investigate a private citizen’s busi-
ness life? And what about the leaks to the press? According
to Thompson, Ervin’s usual reply was that he understood
that matters would be clarified in a week or two. But they
never were. The witch-hunt continued.

Eventually Rebozo was fully exonerated of all the in-
nuendos spread by the Ervin Committee and an only-too-
willing media. The first inkling of this came from Leon
Jaworski, who had just resigned as special prosecutor. In an
interview Jaworski said that Rebozo had violated no laws
in his handling of campaign contributions. What a blow
to the dozens of newsmen who had been on Bebe’s tail for
nearly two years! And what a blow to the anti-Nixonites
who had conjured up all sorts of fantasies regarding sinis-
ter doings down in Key Biscayne. Now it turned out that
all those millions of words regarding Bebe and Nixon — as
well as all those TV newscasts — were based more on wish-
ful thinking than factual evidence. For it was obvious

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 401

from Jaworski’s remarks (and who should have known
better than he?) that Rebozo had been telling the truth.

Jaworski’s comments were contained in an exclusive in-
terview published in the Knight newspapers on January 9,
1975. The former special prosecutor contended that there
was no hard evidence on which his staff could make a case
against Rebozo. The story, summarized in an AP dispatch
out of Miami, quoted Rebozo as saying he was “delighted
that Jaworski came to the only conclusion any fair-minded
person would come to based on the facts.” Though the
Washington Post did publish a few paragraphs, that news-
paper of record The New York Times must have lost its
AP copy. The big TV network news shows, which had
previously gone overboard detailing allegations against Re-
bozo, completely ignored the Jaworski comments. The
Cronkites, Chancellors, and Reasoners now appeared never
to have heard of Rebozo.

But many in the media were still hoping; for Rebozo
was not yet fully out of the woods. As Jaworski said, the
investigation was being continued by his successor. Some
months later the Special Prosecutor’s Office disclosed that,
after fifteen months of its own investigation, it had failed
to turn up any evidence to warrant any charges against
Rebozo. But no apologies were offered Rebozo by anyone.
In fact there were expressions of dismay and outrage that
he had been exonerated.

The partisan character of the various investigators was
reflected in the fact that they showed very little inclination
to look into allegations of hanky-panky on the part of
Democratic bigwigs. For example there was testimony that
during his i968 presidential campaign Hubert Humphrey
accepted $50,000 as a contribution from Howard Hughes.
The charge was made under oath by Robert Maheu, the
former aide who had broken with Hughes. According to
Maheu, he personally handed over the sum in $100 bills
in an attache case during a limousine ride on July 28, 1968,
with the then Vice President in Los Angeles. Humphrey
denied he had been given the money personally, adding,
“He may have given the money to a campaign committee
supporting me.” But one witness, Lloyd Hand, a former
chief of protocol who had been Humphrey’s aide during
the 1968 campaign, testified that they had been in the

402

VICTOR LASKY

limousine when Maheu apparently handed over the attache
case. All the testimony was given in the course of a federal
trial originating in Maheu’s $17.3 million defamation suit
against the Summa Corporation, the Hughes holding com-
pany. In the end the jury chose to believe Maheu, rendering
a verdict in his favor against the reclusive billionaire.

To this day the question of what happened to the
$50,000 which Maheu claimed to have handed over to
Humphrey has never been resolved. And no interest was
ever demonstrated by the Special Prosecutors Office, the
Senate Watergate Committee, or any of the other agencies
which were so busily ferreting out evil in the Nixon camp.
The media also showed a disinclination to pursue the sub-
ject, with one notable exception. Jack Anderson did re-
port on October 17, 1973, that while Spiro T. Agnew was
being sentenced for income tax evasion, the IRS had been
quietly auditing the returns of his predecessor as Vice
President. The IRS “raised its eyebrows over Maheu’s
sworn testimony,” Anderson wrote, “because of evidence
Humphrey did favors for Hughes. If $50,000 was paid for
Humphrey’s services, then the money should have been
reported as income. It was Agnew’s failure to pay taxes
on a bribe that got him into trouble with the IRS.”

Anderson produced handwritten memos from Hughes to
Maheu, some of which were later placed in evidence in
federal court. This was the way the eccentric billionaire
communicated with his staff in the last ten years of his
life. He wrote down his instructions on yellow legal pads;
and the memos were delivered by trusted retainers. Several
memos dealt with Hughes’s crusade to halt a huge nuclear
test explosion that had been scheduled to take place in
Nevada in 1968. Hughes apparently was concerned that the
test would do damage to the numerous properties includ-
ing gambling casinos he was acquiring near the test site.
But he also appeared to have legitimate environmental
concerns. One memo read:

I think that the AEC must be made to realize that I
am dedicated to the minimum request made of them
[to delay the test]. That if they do not grant it, I will
ally myself completely with the all-out anti-bomb
faction throughout the entire U.S. That this group
has only been waiting for a strong leader and I am

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 403

ready to dedicate the rest of my life and every cent I
possess in a complete no quarter fight to outlaw all
nuclear testing of every kind and everywhere. . . .

Hughes seemed to think he could enlist Humphrey’s aid
in ending nuclear testing. “Bob,” Hughes directed Maheu,
“there is one man who can accomplish our objectives
through [President] Johnson and that man is H.H.H. Why
don’t we get word to him on a basis of secrecy that is
really , really reliable that we will give him immediately full
unlimited support for his campaign to enter the White
House if he will just take this one on for us? Let me know.”
Other memos suggested that Hughes believed Humphrey’s
help had be^n obtained. But Humphrey, whose son Bob
was employed by a Hughes company, later told Anderson
that he had been opposed to the Nevada tests long before
he learned of Hughes’s interest in the matter.*

Just as embarrassing to Humphrey was the disclosure
that he had tried to keep valuable gifts that legally be-
longed to the government. In 1974 when columnist Maxine
Cheshire began looking into the matter, Humphrey sud-
denly remembered the 7.9-carat diamond that had been
presented to his wife in 1968 by the president of Zaire.
Worth $100,000, the diamond had reposed in a Minnesota
safe deposit box all that time. Humphrey returned the
diamond to the State Department, explaining that he had
not realized that the Foreign Gifts Act covered members
of his family. At the same time the senator disclosed that a
sack of valuable baby leopard skins, gifts to Mrs. Hum-
phrey from officials of Somalia, had been sold in 1970
for $7,500 and the money given to charity. The Hum-
phreys however had no authorization to so dispose of the
skins.

Other financial irregularities continued to embarrass the
senator.

♦According to Maheu, Hughes had also tried to reach President
Johnson. Maheu testified that Hughes had assigned him to offer
$1 million to LBJ, provided nuclear testing in Nevada was ended.
Hughes also instructed Maheu to “feel out” the President’s attitude
about ending the war in Vietnam. Maheu said he did meet with the
President at the LBJ Ranch and that Johnson insisted that the
nuclear tests were of extreme importance to national security. Maheu
then said he did not make the $1 million offer.

404

VICTOR LASKY

— Like Nixon, Humphrey had obtained a tax deduction
for the vice presidential papers he had given to the Minne-
sota Historical Society. But after the furor over the Nixon
deduction, the IRS took another look at the Humphrey
transaction. The IRS then decided to disallow the nearly
$200,000 deduction it had granted Humphrey.

— Two of Humphrey’s campaign aides, Jack Chestnut
and Norman Sherman, were convicted on federal charges
involving illegal campaign contributions. Sherman, the sen-
ator’s former press secretary, pleaded guilty to a charge
that he had participated in a scheme to launder $82,000
in corporate money to buy computer lists. Sherman said
that he had accepted the corporate money on legal advice
of Chestnut, a lawyer who was then Humphrey’s campaign
manager. When asked by minority staffers of the Water-
gate Committee to testify about the incident. Chestnut took
the Fifth Amendment.

— The Associated Milk Producers Incorporated (AMPI)
was alleged to have given Humphrey’s 1968 presidential
campaign $91,691 in corporate funds, his 1970 Senate
campaign $22,500 out of corporate funds, and his 1972
presidential campaign $34,500 out of corporate funds.
Humphrey’s response was that his campaign organization
handled such matters, not he, and anyway it would be
difficult for a recipient to know whether the funds came
from a corporate or noncorporate account.

— Dwayne Andreas, a longtime Humphrey financial
backer, was charged on October 19, 1973, by Special
Prosecutor Jaworski with giving Humphrey’s 1968 cam-
paign four $25,000 payments — $100,000 in all — out of
the corporate funds of Andreas’s First Interoceanic Corpo-
ration. The payments took place late in October 1968. And
again Humphrey denied any knowledge that the payments
were from corporate funds. Moreover, he said, “the cam-
paign committee handled it.”

— John Loeb, a Wall Street investment banker, was ac-
cused of contributing $48,000 to Humphrey’s 1972 cam-
paign for the presidential nomination, but concealing the
contributions by ascribing them to the names of nine of his
employees. Several of the charges were dropped and
Loeb eventually pleaded no-contest to counts involving do-
nations of $18,000. Here again Humphrey denied knowl-
edge of any illegality.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 405

— Then there was the disclosure that the Seafarers In-
ternational Union had poured $100,000 into Humphrey’s
1968 campaign a few days after the Johnson administration
had denied a request by the Canadian government for ex-
tradition of a former union official to face a Canadian per-
jury charge.

Humphrey himself declined to be interviewed by the
Watergate Committee after minority staffers sought to
question him concerning “funny” money. In fact the sen-
ator sent a note to Ervin saying, “I see no point in incon-
veniencing any member of your committee to meet with
me.” And the chairman, who had been nearly apoplectic
about White House stonewalling, let the matter pass.

The fact that so little had been made of Democratic mis-
deeds was noted by the Washington Star. “Imagine how the
blood, subpoenas and leaks would have flowed had a Nixon
official invoked the Fifth Amendment to keep from testify-
ing or had sent a letter to the Committee saying he wouldn’t
show up because he didn’t want to inconvenience the
Committee. One can only wonder whether it was Demo-
cratic partisanship or Capitol Hill clubbiness that caused
the Senate Watergate Committee to let Humphrey off so
easily.”

Humphrey’s vulnerabilities could well have been one
reason why the Minnesotan declined to enter the primary
contests in 1976— thus affording the little-known Jimmy
Carter an almost clear shot at the nomination. Humphrey
was well aware that his opposition, including Carter, was
prepared to dredge up his Watergate-type problems. Yet
for sheer chutzpah Hubert had few peers. Addressing the
1976 Democratic Convention in Madison Square Garden,
the senator described the Republicans as “self-appointed
experts on law and order,” who “have taken crime off the
streets and put it in the White House.” And Humphrey
applauded wildly when Carter said in his acceptance speech
that there was a “double standard” of justice in this coun-
try with “big shot crooks” going scot-free while poor peo-
ple were being jailed. Well, that “double standard” obvious-
ly didn’t do Humphrey any harm.

Also taking the Fifth Amendment against self-incrimina-
tion was the manager of Congressman Wilbur Mills’s ill-
fated campaign for the presidency in 1972. The chairman

406

VICTOR LASKY

of the House Ways and Means Committee, considered one
of the nation’s most powerful men, declined even to reply
to two letters sent him by Ervin asking him to appear for
questioning. The questioning would have been about Mills’s
connections with the Associated Milk Producers Incorpo-
rated, which contributed to his campaign and provided of-
fice help. According to Thompson, there also was sworn
testimony that Mills had asked the AMPI to arrange an
Iowa rally for him so he could address farmers. The bills
for the rally, amounting to $45,000, were paid by the milk
producers group. Apparently in return Mills had assisted
the AMPI in its organized drive to persuade the administra-
tion to increase milk-price supports. In addition the minor-
ity staffers discovered that Gulf Oil had arranged to de-
liver $15,000 in corporate funds to a Mills fund-raiser —
something which most definitely was illegal. And as
Thompson later noted, “Our investigation received little
attention in the press, but our findings were well known to
the political figures involved. And they were not exactly
cooperative.”

And when Mills got into trouble in the famous episode
involving an Argentine stripper who had leaped into the
Tidal Basin, he returned to Little Rock, Arkansas, for a
campaign appearance before the Jaycees, most of whom —
so reporters noted — appeared generally sympathetic.

“You are the number one Democrat the Republicans
would like to get rid of,” a member of the audience said to
Mills. “Do you feel the jackals are after you?”

“There are still Nixon people in the federal government
who might be because I declared that President Nixon
might have to resign when people learned about his taxes,”
responded Mills. “There were reports that the driver of my
car the other night at one time was in the government
under the Nixon Administration, but there’s no proof that
he had any instructions from anybody.”

But such was the temper of the times that there were
those in Little Rock who believed him. At least he was re-
elected. Of course the Tidal Basin escapade was not his
last; and he was finally forced to resign.

As a noted Democrat once observed, “Money is the
mother’s milk of politics.” Contributions of all kinds, legal
and otherwise, have fueled the campaigns of politicians of
both parties from time immemorial. “One remembers,”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 407

Bill Rickenbacker remembered in the National Review,
“Senators Kennedy and Bayh crashing on a hilltop in
Massachusetts and being found in a bed of money; literally,
the cash was drifting all over the mountain. It is on record
that they were flying up to attend the annual banquet of the
Democratic party, and one supposes that services had
been rendered, and payment in full was due.” But no con-
gressional investigation ever was launched into the episode,
which was quickly forgotten.

There was a belated effort to examine McGovern’s cam-
paign finances on the part of Thompson’s overworked
probers — this the same McGovern who has been wearing a
Watergate halo over his sparse locks. Yet the record shows
that McGovern transferred some $340,000 in 1972 cam-
paign funds to his 1974 campaign for reelection to the
Senate. While apparently not illegal, nevertheless this was
done at a time when McGovern’s L972 campaign creditors
were being asked to discount their bills at half-price. This
raised a question about a violation of the spirit of the law
prohibiting corporate contributions to political campaigns.

Commenting on these unethical, if not illegal, practices,
former admirer Martin Peretz noted that, during the 1972
campaign,

McGovern could not resist the opportunity to talk
about how open and aboveboard he and his associates
were. It now seems that they were not quite as candid
as they pretended. While repaying loans of some
of the McGovern rich, they were still deluging the
McGovern rank and file for last-minute contributions.
At the same time, subsistence workers were taken off
salary. At the end, however, there was a huge surplus;
and some suspect that this surplus was the real goal
of late October fund-raising. But what was to be done
with that surplus? Hundreds of thousands of dollars
contributed by thousands of citizens to a campaign
to turn Nixon out of the White House was quietly
shifted to keep McGovern in the Senate.

McGovern was infuriated when he heard that the draft
report of the Watergate Committee had cited an “ap-
parent violation of the spirit of the law” in regard to how
he had settled his debts with some corporations. In a letter

408 VICTOR LASKY

to Ervin he denounced Thompson and his minority staffers,
comparing them to Haldeman and Segretti. What McGov-
ern did not know was that the language to which he ob-
jected had actually been suggested by Dave Dorsen, one
of the few Democratic staffers who was not blinded by ex-
cessive partisanship. It was, as Thompson later noted,
“language with which we, of course, wholeheartedly
agreed.” Nevertheless, unlike Republican targets of the
committee, McGovern won his battle. Ervin passed the
word that the phrase to which McGovern had objected was
to be deleted from the report. And it was deleted, with no
outcry from a media supposedly on the lookout for “cover-
ups.”

“Because of our limited manpower,” wrote Thompson,
“the minority staff was spread thin; but it seemed that
everywhere we looked there was an array of campaign
irregularities waiting to be discovered.” Thompson’s in-
vestigators, for example, found that Ed Muskie’s campaign
had made an arrangement with Hertz Rent-A-Car which
smacked of illegality. Even more promising was an in-
vestigation into Mayor Lindsay’s campaign which had to
be terminated. But enough was discovered for the com-
mittee’s final report to cite Lindsay’s presidential bid as
having accepted cash contributions from paving contrac-
tors who somehow wound up with $1.7 million in con-
tracts to provide asphalt to New York City.

The cavalier manner in which the Democratic majority
on the Ervin Committee engaged in cover-ups in behalf
of Democrats was further illustrated by the treatment ac-
corded a member of the House named James R. Jones, of
Tulsa, Oklahoma. Jones, who had been an aide to President
Johnson, had once written a letter to the AMPI complain-
ing that the milk producers had stopped paying a re-
tainer begun shortly after he left the White House. The
letter in effect suggested that AMPI had placed him on
the retainer because he had persuaded LBJ to do certain
things in behalf of the milk industry. “When our staff con-
tacted Jones about the letter, he faced a painful decision,”
reported Thompson. “He had to admit either that he had
improperly used his influence while serving in the White
House or that, to keep the retainer, he had misled AMPI
about his efforts in AMPI’s behalf. He told us that the
latter situation was true — that he had not really provided

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 409

any of the help for AMPI that was spelled out in his
letter.”

Jones pleaded with Ervin and other members of the com-
mittee to keep any reference to his letter out of the re-
port. And the Democratic majority agreed to do so. The
argument was that the Jones matter did not fall within the
charter of the committee to investigate matters surround-
ing the 1972 campaign. But, as Thompson noted, “the rul-
ing was not consistent with the Committee’s action on
other matters of our investigation, including Rebozo’s deal-
ings,” few of which had anything to do with the 1972
campaign. “I believed that the Democrats were using the
jurisdictional issue to bail out one of their Democratic
colleagues.”

As it turned out, the milk producers had also taken care
of Johnson when he left the White House. Through the
AMPI they had entered into an agreement with the former
President to lease his thirteen-passenger Beechcraft turbo-
prop airplane at a minimum of $94,000 a year. According
to the contract, the AMPI had first call on the plane, which
was based at the LBJ Ranch airstrip. It was a deal which
the Texas-based co-op tried to terminate. All this became
known as a result of an investigation of the co-op’s political
dealings undertaken by Edward L. Wright, a former presi-
dent of the American Bar Association. The study was
initiated by the co-op’s board of directors to follow up
reports of illicit contributions to the Nixon campaign and
other questionable expenditures by AMPI officials. Basically
the findings showed that the AMPI was more heavily in-
volved with Johnson, Humphrey, and other Democratic
leaders than with Republicans.

Some interesting revelations came out of the study. The
major revelation had to do with LBJ’s plane. The former
President was quoted as saying he had welcomed the lease
arrangement with AMPI because the payments supple-
mented his retirement income. LBJ had conceded in a
conversation with George L. Mehren, AMPI’s general man-
ager, that the price was fairly “lush.”

Mehren had gone to work for AMPI on June 1, 1968,
one day after Johnson had accepted his resignation as
Assistant Secretary of Agriculture. According to Mehren,
he had sought LBJ’s advice in October 1972 when a Nixon
fund-raiser sought additional campaign contributions. He

410

VICTOR LASKY

met with the former President at the ranch. “During the
meeting,” he said, “the President told me that the dairy
people in his last campaign had agreed to give $250,000,
but had not done so.”

Outlining other ties between the co-op and LBJ, the
Wright study reported that in 1968 the AMPI had paid
$104,521 to publish a slick 241 -page book as a tribute
to President Johnson. Titled No Retreat from Tomorrow ,
it contained color photographs of LBJ along with two
dozen of his messages to Congress. Apparently printed be-
fore LBJ’s decision not to seek reelection, it was de-
signed as a memento for campaign contributors. AMPI
deducted the costs as a a necessary business expense but
its claim was disallowed by the IRS. Another phony book-
keeping entry was made by AMPI when it paid a printing
bill for the Humphrey senatorial campaign through a New
York advertising firm. The item was invoiced as “consulting
fee for Minnesota.” In both the Humphrey campaign and
the brief 1972 campaign for the presidential nomination
waged by Wilbur Mills, the co-op paid the salaries and
expenses of individuals who worked fulltime on political
chores — all decidedly illegal.

Another corporation which maintained a secret fund
for political purposes was Minnesota Mining and Manu-
facturing, better known as 3M. Illegal funds were given to
Senator Walter F. Mondale, Democrat of Minnesota; Hu-
bert Humphrey; Gale McGee, Democrat of Wyoming;
William Proxmire, Democrat of Wisconsin; Minority Lead-
er Hugh Scott of Pennsylvania; and Senator Mark Hatfield,
Oregon Republican, among others. In addition 3M con-
tributed to various congressional campaigns as well as din-
ners in which the receipts were collected by party cam-
paign organizations. Yet under a deal worked out with then
Special Prosecutor Cox, 3 M’s illegal contributions were
wiped clean when the company pleaded guilty to a single
count — the donation of $30,000 to the 1972 Nixon cam-
paign. So from the very beginning a record was being com-
piled which centered mainly on the sins of the Nixon ad-
ministration.

The unwillingness of the Ervin Committee to delve into
campaigns other than that of Nixon was noted by the
Washington Post in a news story on January 6, 1975: “The
staff . . . felt obliged for political purposes to stay close

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 411

to their charter and out of fund raising affairs of candidates
other than Richard M. Nixon.” And the Post quoted a
former staff member as observing, “Basically, the Senators
were not wild about going beyond the narrowest scope of
inquiry.” And for good reason. Had the committee begun
looking into the illegal contributions of such companies as
3M, its work would have been endless. And it also would
have struck too close to home.

Former President Johnson’s name cropped up again when
The New York Times reported on depositions and docu-
ments filed in a Washington court which chronicled the
distribution of millions of dollars in Gulf Oil Corporation
funds to politicians of both parties over many years. Ac-
cording to the Times , the documents showed how “a Gulf
lobbyist began his career with the company by delivering
$50,000 to Lyndon B. Johnson, then the Vice President.”
This was shortly after the 1960 election. The transaction
had all the hallmarks of the kind of activity that led to
the forced resignation of a future Vice President — Spiro T.
Agnew.

The Gulf employee was identified as Claude C. Wild,
Jr., who later became the corporation’s chief lobbyist in
Washington. Wild’s role was disclosed to SEC investigators
by Thomas D. Wright, a Pittsburgh lawyer who served as
outside counsel for Gulf. Wright quoted Wild as having
said that David Searls, Gulfs former general counsel,
gave him $50,000 in the early 1960s to deliver to LBJ.
“That was his first assignment at Gulf Oil,” Wright said.
“He did not know where the funds came from. And, sec-
ondly, he did not know anything about the arrangement or
why these funds were being delivered.”

In addition to Johnson other top political figures were
also paid off by Wild. In Wright’s notes of an interview
with Wild there was this statement: “All Senators on Wa-
tergate except Ervin.” According to Wright, “this was a
reference in some way (that) Wild had assisted all of the
Senators” on the Watergate Committee with the exception
of Ervin. Therefore it was not surprising that when the
committee called Wild to testify, the senators were only
interested in hearing about the terrible arm-twisting the oil
lobbyist was forced to endure from Nixon fund-raisers.
Overlooked in his testimony was a sentence which most
certainly sent a chill through the senators questioning him.

412

VICTOR LASKY

“There is a great deal of solicitation done by the legislative
branch, too,” said Wild. The record then shows that
neither Ervin nor any of the other senators present — Baker,
Inouye, Montoya, and Weicker, all of whom were basking
as fighters against evil — sought amplification of Wild’s
allegation. Instead Ervin changed the subject.

In March 1976 Wild was indicted for having made
illegal contributions in 1973 to Senators Inouye and Sam
Nunn. Previously Gulf and Wild had both pleaded guilty
to having given secret funds to the campaigns of President
Nixon, Senator Jackson, and Congressman Mills. Other
alleged recipients of Gulf cash included Hugh Scott of
Pennsylvania; Senate Finance Committee Chairman Rus-
sell B. Long, Democrat of Louisiana; Senate Ethics Com-
mittee Chairman Howard W. Cannon, Democrat of Ne-
vada; House Majority Leader Thomas P. O’Neill of Mas-
sachusetts; Senator Humphrey; and Senator Hatfield, the
latter “at the request of the Kuwait Ambassador.”

At Wild’s trial in July 1976 Senator Inouye’s ad-
ministrative assistant testified that he gave his boss $1,200
of an illegal $5,000 Gulf contribution to cover out-of-
pocket expenses. He said he didn’t tell Inouye where the
money came from and his boss didn’t ask. The transaction
took place in early 1973, when Inouye was serving on the
Watergate Committee. It was during that period that Inouye
had warmed the hearts of TV fans everywhere when, at
the conclusion of John Ehrlichman’s day in the dock, the
Hawaiian whispered “What a liar!” into an open micro-
phone. At the Wild trial, under cross-examination by de-
fense counsel, the administrative assistant admitted he had
committed perjury when first questioned about the Gulf
contribution by a federal grand jury on September 10,
1975. “I testified untruthfully the first time,” he said, “to
protect the Senator.” Shades of Watergate!*

An account of how Gulf money was delivered to poli-
ticians was provided to SEC lawyers by Frederick A.
Myers, who had been the corporation’s “coordinator of
legislation” in Washington. In a sworn deposition Myers

♦On a ruling by the judge, Wild was freed because the alleged
illegal transaction took place outside the three-year statute of
limitations.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 413

insisted repeatedly he never knew what was in the plain
white envelopes that Claude Wild had asked him to deliver
to various individuals around the country. Between 1961
and 1972 Myers said he made about twenty trips. Election
years were usually busy times for him. In May of 1964,
for example, he flew to Oklahoma City, where he said he
rented a hotel room and waited for Fred Harris, then run-
ning for the Senate. “I called him and he came to the
hotel,” said Myers. Harris, along with his wife and perhaps
two or three other men, came to collect the envelope, he
said. In 1976 Harris, a self-styled populist, unsuccessfully
sought the Democratic nomination for President. One of
the chief planks in his platform was the breakup of the
major oil companies. Obviously if the payment was made,
Harris didn’t stay bought.

In all at least thirty-two senators and about two dozen
members of the House were cited in court depositions as
possible recipients of campaign fund largesse from Claude
Wild. Several of the named recipients, such as Senators
Baker and Jackson, announced they were returning the
money. Others, like Senators William E. Brock and Russell
Long, said they had no record of receiving Gulf money.
Former Senator Fred Harris denied ever “knowingly” ac-
cepting an illegal contribution. And Humphrey, when asked
to return the money, said he was consulting his lawyer.

Of course it was hardly considered likely that any of
those named in the court depositions would ever be pros-
ecuted — even if it could have been established that they
had knowingly accepted illegal contributions. And that’s
because of the statute of limitations conveniently shortened
in their behalf. For this they all owed a debt of gratitude
to none other than Wayne Hays, the Ohio Democrat whose
dalliances with Elizabeth Ray were to cost him his extraor-
dinary power in the House. In July 1974 Hays rammed
through an amendment to the pending campaign “reform”
law which, in effect, gave his colleagues-in-trouble statu-
tory immunity from prosecution. In a secret session of his
House Administration Committee, members by a show of
hands voted to approve Hays's proposal to reduce the time
period for prosecution from five to three years after the
alleged violation. The bill was reported out and then passed
by the House at a time when most media attention was

414

VICTOR LASKY

concentrated on the Watergate-buffeted White House. At
the same time Hays was loudly demanding that Nixon be
called to account.

Thus by voting for what they proudly mislabeled “re-
form” legislation, the lawmakers who feared prosecution
literally pardoned themselves. The outcry from the Water-
gate-obsessed media was minimal.*

The new law had the immediate effect of letting various
prominent statesmen, including Wilbur Mills, off the hook.
Another who escaped prosecution was Robert Strauss,
the genial chairman of the Democratic National Commit-
tee who had admitted receiving $50,000 in illegal funds
from Ashland Oil in 1970 and 1971 when he was party
treasurer. Strauss conceded he may have unknowingly
committed a “technical” violation of the law. He claimed
he had not known that the money came from the corporate
treasury. “It was clearly represented to me as individual
contributions,” he added. But then it turned out that Strauss
had never listed the contributions and the names of the
donors as required for all gifts of more than $100. Instead
he reported the money as “miscellaneous” contributions,
i.e., those under $100. Strauss later explained he had laun-
dered the money because he felt Ashland Oil would not
want the Nixon administration to know about the con-
tributions. “I thought it was legal at the time,” he said.

But it wasn’t. And the only thing that saved Strauss from
prosecution was the “fix” engineered in the Democratic-
controlled Congress. No wonder then that on Meet the
Press in June 1976, following the scandals enveloping Hays,
Bob Strauss said he intended to support the Ohioan’s re-
election bid to the House. (This of course was before Hays
decided to resign from Congress.) Replying to another
question, Strauss said that the DNC had not yet returned
the $50,000 to Ashland Oil, though this had been de-
manded by some people in his party. The previous Novem-
ber, for example, Stanley Sheinbaum, a California thorn in
Strauss’s side, had told fellow liberals: “Republicans had

•Arguing that there wasn’t any reason to grant “special privileges
to politicians, Henry S. Ruth, Jr., then the special prosecutor, urged
Congress to repeal the three-year limitation. But when the Senate
passed the Watergate Reform Act of 1976, not one senator had
offered an amendment to do so.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 415

their Watergate. But we — for a lousy $50,000 — are not
clean.”

Not as lucky as Strauss was his fund-raising counterpart
in the Nixon camp. Maurice H. Stans, unable to get under
the umbrella of the statute of limitations, was forced to
plead guilty to five misdemeanor charges of violating cam-
paign finance laws — three for failing to make accurate
reports of these transactions and two for accepting cor-
porate contributions. He was fined $5,000.

Strauss meanwhile continued to serve as chairman of the
Democratic National Committee.

TWENTY-THREE

Midway through the impeachment proceedings Nicholas
von Hoffman heard a congressman utter these historic
words: “We’re going to impeach his ass. We’re going to
do it.” And von Hoffman agreed that impeachment was
inevitable. “We’re going to do it, although nobody will quite
know why. . . . Beyond all questions of guilt or innocence,
he must be impeached because we, the Super-Bowl people,
have been promised the show. We’re gearing up for it
emotionally the way we did when the ballyhoo built up for
the Billie Jean King-Bobby Riggs match.”

Von Hoffman, hardly an admirer of the President, did
recognize the hypocrisy of much of the campaign being
waged to drive Nixon from office.

There was the example of Senator Kennedy who, in
commenting on the President’s refusal to turn over certain
tapes subpoenaed by the Judiciary Committee, said on
May 8, 1974: “I think a fundamental part of our whole
tradition is not to allow the person being investigated to
set the terms of the investigation.” Of course five years be-
fore, the heir to the myth had done everything possible “to
set die terms of the investigation” of Chappaquiddick. He
had hunkered down, hung tough, and adopted a public
relations posture. He had gone on nationwide television to
give his equivalent of a self-edited transcript of what had
happened on Dike Bridge that terrible night. Having done
all this, the senator then announced that this was the last
time he would ever discuss the matter — let others wallow in
Chappaquiddick. And he got away with it; the cover-up
continues to this day.

Meanwhile the thirty-eight members of the Judiciary
Committee sat behind closed doors and listened to Doar
drone out the evidence. What Doar and his staff were do-
ing was pulling together a vast amount of material from

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 417

numerous sources — the Senate Watergate Committee, the
Joint Committee on Internal Revenue Taxation, the In-
ternal Revenue Service, grand juries, and other congres-
sional fact-finding committees. Ail this information was
compiled in thirty-six black loose-leaf notebooks, each
dealing with such specific subjects as: the cover-up, “White
House Surveillance Activities,” the Cambodia incursion,
Nixon’s taxes, the ITT settlement, the 1971 milk price
support decision, and the like. Less than 10 percent of the
evidence was originated by the Judiciary Committee. Which
is why, in the end, Doar earned the title pinned on him by
a detractor — “The World’s Greatest Archivist.”

Even Democratic members were appalled. “If these
meetings were ever televised, the country would impeach
us,” said one. “This isn’t an investigation; it’s a compila-
tion,” said another. And the Republicans agreed. “Damned
dull!” said Robert McClory of Illinois.

When the executive sessions were finally over, Bill
Greider reported in the Washington Post on July 22, 1974,
that “even the most bullish Democrats conceded that their
investigation did not produce a thunderous consensus that
Mr. Nixon should be removed from office, the kind of com-
pelling bipartisan agreement which would remove all
doubt about the outcome.”

Congressman McClory put it this way, “I kept waiting
for the bombshell to appear, and it never appeared.” Even
Democrats agreed that not one piece of evidence had been
produced — no “hand in the cookie jar” or “smoking gun” —
which would show conclusively that the President was guilty
of a crime, or at least a broader “impeachable offense.”
The impeachment forces were worried. Some worried out
loud. As Ed Mezvinsky said somewhat incoherently, “This
is it, this is the crunch. When we pull the package to-
gether. Are we equipped to do it? Can we pull it off? That’s
the question now. I’m very concerned about that.”

But seeking new material would have meant the calling
of witnesses; and this Rodino and company wanted to
avoid at all costs. Thus none of the Watergate figures were
interrogated by Doar or by the President’s lawyer, James St.
Clair. The reason was the need for haste. As John Pierson,
in a Wall Street Journal analysis of the impeachment hear-
ings, put it following the Nixon resignation: “The Com-
mittee didn’t take more time to probe and think because the

418 VICTOR LASKY

House Democratic leadership buckled under to public im-
patience with Watergate and to legitimate fears that a
Senate trial might slop over into 1975, thus raising awk-
ward questions about the new Congress’ right to try some-
one the old Congress had impeached.” But time could have
been found. For one thing the committee could have hired
more staff people and the members themselves could have
worked harder. But most of the members — at least on the
Democratic side — were opposed to heavier schedules. After
all, their minds had been made up even before the hearings
had begun. And they made no secret of their peculiar con-
cept of justice.

The failure to do more original digging drew the fire of
Charles Wiggins, the California Republican who brilliantly
argued Nixon’s case during the public debate. Along with
Charles Sandman of New Jersey, Wiggins had been among
the minority of Republicans who had voted against the un-
seating of Adam Clayton Powell as a member of the House.
Concerning Doar’s presentation, Wiggins said, “It wasn’t a
careful and thorough presentation of the facts. We would
have had great difficulty in proving the case in the Senate.
You don’t start your case there by calling a transcript.
You have to call witnesses.”

In all of this the President’s rights were being constantly
violated. Fairness went by the board. As Pierson noted,
‘The Committee should have worried less about public
relations and more about assuring due process to Mr. Nix-
on.” Pierson incidentally could hardly be described as a
Nixon apologist. He had written some tough critiques of
presidential policies. And as a result the Wall Street Journal
correspondent found himself on one of the idiotic enemy
lists aimed at preventing him from being invited to any
White House social affair. Which is what makes his analysis
even more crucial for a proper understanding of the com-
mittee’s rush to judgment.

As an example of how fairness was sacrificed to public
relations, Pierson wrote: “Having heard ten weeks of
evidence behind closed doors — primarily to avoid partisan
bickering but also to protect the rights of Watergate de-
fendants awaiting trail, innocent third parties and Mr. Nixon
himself — the panel then did an about-face and released
almost all its closed-door testimony.” And then, in the week

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 419

between the end of the hearings and the start of the tele-
vised debate, the members weren’t even given time to think
about the meaning of the mass of data presented them. In-
stead Doar and company devoted most of that time to
selling their own particular theories of the case. In this
Doar was also assisted by the supposed minority counsel,
Al Jenner, to the deep annoyance of even liberal Repub-
licans. The result was that they voted to get rid of him.
But Jenner refused to take a hint and go home. He re-
mained with the committee, working directly for Doar. He
insisted on remaining for the kill.

The committee’s rush “directly from testimony to tube”
was deplored by James Mann, the South Carolina Democrat
who voted for impeachment. What he had wanted was for
his colleagues to “draw our chairs into a circle” and reason
together “in a thoughtful, deliberative atmosphere.” But, as
he said later, the committee “just sat there watching the
trees march by for ten weeks and then didn’t even discuss
what they meant.”

Of such was the highly hoked-up TV impeachment
spectacular composed. “The suspicion lingers,” wrote Pier-
son, “that . . . the Democratic majority was less intent on
schooling the public about impeachment than on swaying
the public toward a certain conclusion and in putting public
pressure on wavering Republicans and Southern Democrats.
Was the case against Richard Nixon so weak that resort
had to be made to such tricks? It wasn’t. And the tricks
only served to cheapen somewhat an otherwise sound
process.”

“Getting” Nixon was the name of the game. When Doar
finally dropped his mask of impartiality and stood as a
self-appointed Torquemada, Rodino said proudly, “When
I hired him, I always knew he eventually would do this.”
Since Rodino had been playing the role of a serious, fair-
minded man to the hilt, this was a bone-headed thing for
him to have said. But stumbling was habitual with the
chairman. On June 27, 1974, in what he apparently thought
to be an off-the-record session in his office, Rodino told
three journalists — Jack Nelson and Paul Huston of the Los
Angeles Times and Sam Donaldson of ABC — that he be-
lieved all twenty-one of the committee’s Democrats “will
vote impeachment and if five Republicans also vote for it.

420

VICTOR LASKY

the full House will follow suit.” When the story was pub-
lished, administration spokesmen including Vice President
Ford cried “partisan lynch-mob.”

Rodino’s reaction was as predictable. He raced to the
floor. “I want to state unequivocally and categorically that
this statement is not true,” he said. “There is no basis in
fact for it, none whatsoever.” Since the three newsmen stuck
by their guns, nobody really believed Rodino. The episode
was soon forgotten in the rush of events. Still, as William
Satire observed, though the main focus had been on Ro-
dino’s prejudgment of the case, the episode went to what
presumably was the heart of Watergate: ‘The apparent
willingness of politicians, when caught in embarrassing
‘situations,’ to cover up their blunders with obvious, ‘cate-
gorical’ lies.” And lying, in the post- Watergate morality, was
a crime only when indulged in by Nixon officials.

But Rodino’s undiplomatic comment did point up the
partisan nature of a body which ostensibly was proceeding
in a judicious manner. Another example of political bias
came when the committee’s Democrats — all twenty-one of
them — voted against issuing a subpoena to obtain the rec-
ords of dairy contributions to House members before April
7, 1972, when the public reporting law for such contribu-
tions took effect. The Republicans — all seventeen of them
— voted in favor. Iowa Republican Wiley Mayne said that
since the committee was investigating whether Nixon had
raised milk price supports in exchange for a campaign
contribution, it had the duty of examining dairy contribu-
tions to House members or lay itself open to criticism for
setting a double standard and a “cover-up.” But Rodino
contended that the committee had no authority to make
such an inquiry. All of which led "White House spokesman
Ken Clawson to maintain that this meant that the Dem-
ocrats did not want to be judged by the same standards to
which they would subject the President.

Then suddenly the milk issue evaporated as a possible
impeachable offense, as did other matters which for many
long months had made big, black headlines — the bombing
of Cambodia, ITT, illegal corporate contributions, public
expenditures on San Clemente and Key Biscayne, im-
poundment, the President’s taxes. The reason why most of
the committee members agreed to drop them was explained
by Hamilton Fish. “Many Congressmen had received illegal

rr didn’t start with Watergate 421

corporate contributions,” said the New York Republican.
“The milk thing was out because sixteen members of the
Committee had received money from the milk trusts. The
President had lied to us about Cambodia, but we couldn’t
shoulder him with responsibility for a war many Congress-
men had supported. And it was hard to show any direct
quid pro quo on ITT. . .

In other words, in terms of impeachment all these various
allegations added up to nothing. But not before they had
done grave damage to Nixon. For they had most certainly
been used by his critics and particularly by the media to
fuel the atmosphere of crisis. Now suddenly they were gone.
“We went fishing,” Harold Froehlich, the Wisconsin Re-
publican who voted for impeachment, told Greider. “And
we played every issue we could for whatever it was worth.
Part of it was creating an atmosphere for impeachment.”
In other words all the issues were used to provide thunder-
and-lightning — if no rain.

A good example was the insistence of such Democrats
as Mezvinsky that the President’s alleged income tax dodges
be discussed, even though there was no likelihood that the
subject would make its way into an article of impeachment.
With Rodino’s blessing the subject was brought up on
prime-time television, thus assuring a maximum audience
for all kinds of unsubstantiated allegations. This aroused the
ire of Charles Sandman, who turned his scorn on his Demo-
cratic colleagues. “This bunch of baloney was supposed to
have been taken up in the afternoon but it’s taken up to-
night because there’s a larger audience.” On one tax issue,
the one involving the First Lady’s use of Air Force One on
her travels, Sandman noted correctly that the matter had
never been brought up when Jackie Kennedy and Lady
Bird Johnson were flying around at government expense.
And even Railsback of Illinois, a moderate Republican who
favored impeachment, accused the committee of “overkill”
and “impeachmentitis.” Not all of the media was entranced
by the committee’s performance either. James Reston ad-
mittedly was in a dissenting minority of commentators
when he sourly accused its members of “making recitations
before the TV cameras,” adding that the whole exercise
produced “bad law and boring television.”

Most of the press however was of a different mind. So
much so that Alabama Democrat Walter Flowers, a pro-

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VICTOR LASKY

impeachment vote, felt compelled to tell reporters: “I
simply ask that each of you look inward and decide for
yourself if each of you has treated fairly with the Presi-
dent. I feel the perspective of Middle America has not re-
ceived equal time from you.”

Remarkably The Village Voice thought Flowers could
be right, pointing out that

reporters regularly snicker at Presidential defenders,
and act as p.r. agents for “agonizing,” “anguished,”
“courageous” Republicans who vote against Nixon.
No one bothers to point out how slovenly and vague
the original Committee’s staffs draft articles for im-
peachment were, few point out how little real investi-
gation the Committee did, how suppositional and cir-
cumstantial much of the Doar case is. Stupid Republi-
cans are ridiculed. Slow-witted Democrats like Joshua
Eilberg (who claims that Nixon throwing an ashtray
across a room at Key Biscayne after learning of Wa-
tergate is proof positive of guilty prior knowledge)
escaped well deserved ridicule.

Some idea of the atmosphere inside the hearing room
was also provided by the Voice correspondent. He reported
that two reporters who hadn’t seen each other for some
time had met for what to them must have been a joyous
occasion.

“This is like the McGovern campaign,” one said.

“It is the McGovern campaign,” the other replied. “He
just peaked too late.”

Or as Richard Reeves reported in New York , “You only
had to spend five minutes in Rayburn House Office Building
2101, the press room, to know that it was us against them —
and ‘them* is Nixon and the boys still on the burning
deck.”

But it wasn’t all easy sailing for the impeachment forces.
The Nixon loyalists mounted a campaign demanding
“specificity” — that is, dates, times, and events to support
each and every allegation in the first article of impeachment.
The article accused Nixon of having violated his constitu-
tional oath in having “prevented, obstructed and impeded
the administration of justice, in that . . . using the powers

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 423

of his high office, engaged personally and through his sub-
ordinates and agents, in a course of action or plan designed
to delay, impede, and obstruct the investigation of (the
Watergate break-in) ; to cover up, conceal and protect those
responsible; and to conceal the existence and scope of
other unlawful covert activities. ... In all of this, Richard
M. Nixon has acted in a manner contrary to his trust as
President and subversive of constitutional government, to
the great prejudice of the cause of law and justice and to
the manifest injury of the people of the United States.
Wherefore, Richard M. Nixon, by such conduct, warrants
impeachment and trial, and removal from office.”

It was Charles Wiggins who took the lead in attacking
Article I, which had become known as the “Sarbanes sub-
stitute,” because Maryland Democrat Paul S. Sarbanes had
a major hand in drafting it

wiggins: Now, the heart of this matter is that the President
made it his policy to obstruct justice and to interfere
with investigations. Would you please explain to this
member of the committee and to the other members,
when, and in what respect and how did the President de-
clare that policy? And I wish the gentleman would be
rather specific, since it is the heart of the allegation.
sarbanes: Well, of course, the means by which this policy
has been done are the ones that are set out subsequent
to the second paragraph.

wiggins: If the gentleman could confine himself to the
question, when was the policy declared?
sarbanes: . . . Well, the policy relates back to June 17,
1972, and prior thereto, agents of the committee com-
mitted illegal entry, and it then goes on and says sub-
sequent thereto, Richard M. Nixon, using the powers of
his high office, made it his policy, and in furtherance of
such policy did act directly —
wiggins: I can read the article, but I think it is rather im-
portant to all of us that we know from you, as the
author of the article, exactly when this policy was de-
clared, and I hope you will tell us.

But Sarbanes was unable to do so. And this was due, as
The Village Voice noted, “to the staffs failure to prepare

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VICTOR LASKY

the Democratic majority with the specifics it did have.”
Then Sandman took over, hitting hard at his Democratic
opponents and nearly toppling their defenses.

sandman: Do you not believe that under the due-process
clause of the Constitution that fsic] every individual,
including the President, is entitled to due notice of what
he is charged for? Do you believe that?

Sarbanes: I think this article does provide due notice.
sandman: You are not answering my question.

Sarbanes: Well, I think I am answering your question.
sandman: Well, let me ask you this, then. As I see this,
you have about twenty different charges here, all on one
piece of paper, and not one of them specific. . . . How
does he answer such a charge? This is not due process.
Due process —

sarbanes: I would point out to the gentleman from New
Jersey that the President’s counsel entered this committee
room at the very moment that members of this com-
mittee entered the room and began to receive the pre-
sentation of information, and that he stayed in the
room —

sandman: I do not yield any further.
sarbanes: — Throughout that process.
sandman: I do not yield any further for those kinds of
speeches. I want answers, and this is what I am entitled
to. This is a charge against the President of the United
States, why he should be tried to be thrown out of office,
and that is what it is for. For him to be duly noticed of
what you are charging him, in my judgment, he is en-
titled to know specifically what he did wrong, and how
does he gather that from what you say here?

Still other Republicans joined the counterattack, de-
manding “specificity” from the President’s accusers. Said
Del Latta: “A common jaywalker charged with jaywalk-
ing any place in the United States is entitled to know
when and where the alleged offense is supposed to have
occurred. Is the President of the United States entitled to
less?” The impeachment spokesmen had no ready replies.
They were being completely routed under the glare of the
television lights. Some tried to fight back with the argument
that the problem was they had too much evidence, not too

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 425

little. “Isn’t it amazing?” Sandman hit back. “They are
willing to do anything except make these articles specific.
It is the same old story, you know, when you don’t have
the law on your side, you talk about the facts. If you don’t
have the facts on your side, you just talk, and that is what
a lot of people have been doing today.”

But it was all too late. Under pressure of a media which
had suddenly discovered their “anguish” and “courage,” six
of the more liberal Republicans broke ranks to vote with
all the Democrats in favor of Article I. The vote to im-
peach for obstructing justice was 27 to 11. And though it
was generally applauded, there were voices of dissent. One
was that of the Washington correspondent of Le Figaro ,
France’s leading newspaper. According to Jacques Jacquet-
Francillon, “the eleven faithful Republicans who vainly
pleaded the President’s cause during the last four days be-
fore the Judiciary Committee” had underlined “that none
of the points of Article I approved by the majority is really
backed by precise facts. . . . They are denying Nixon the
most elementary right of any accused man: to know pre-
cisely for what he will have to defend himself.” And
earlier in the week, the London Daily Express said the
televised debate was “a political version of Peyton Place,
a continuing story played up, or hammed up, by politicians
chasing the limelight and using every twist and turn of the
sad, messy saga for their own ends.” At the same time the
London Daily Mail accused some sections of the American
media of “lynch-mob behavior.”

On Article II, which concerned allegation of abuses of
power, the vote was 28 to 10. Article III had less support.
By a vote of 21 to 17 the President was to be summoned
to trial for defying the committee’s subpoenas.

But the real blows to Nixon’s cause came from else-
where. One of his top aides, John Ehrlichman, was con-
victed in the Ellsberg break-in case. Had he been found
innocent, that would have bolstered Nixon’s case enormous-
ly. Instead when a jury in Watergate-obsessed Washington
found Ehrlichman guilty, a lot of people appeared to trans-
fer his guilt to the President. And even while the com-
mittee was debating the articles of impeachment came an-
other sledgehammer blow: John B. Connally, who had
been Secretary of the Treasury and the man Nixon had
hoped would succeed him as President, was indicted by the

426

VICTOR LASKY

grand jury. The charge was taking a $10,000 bribe from
the dairy interests. And its disclosure also had a profound
effect on the impeachment proceedings.*

The major accusations against the President, as con-
tained in Articles I and II, were framed in very broad and
general terms. For one thing it was difficult to determine
the precise extent to which he was being held to blame for
his own actions rather than those of his subordinates.
Moreover many of the conclusions reached by the com-
mittee were based largely on hearsay, guilt by association,
suspicion, and opinion hung together with free-wheeling in-
ferences. As editor C. L. Dancey observed in the Peoria
Journal-Star , “The hard evidence isn’t there that actually
links the President as a participant in illegal acts. You
have to juggle it around in a pretty complicated manner to
weave him into something in some way connected to some
illegal act. What evidence does exist offers clues, only,
that have to be interpreted and manipulated and which
can be interpreted, therefore, in different ways.” In other
words the charges were not spelled out with the “specificity”
or the detail which would have been required, say, in any
ordinary indictment In addition much of the case against
the President appeared to be based on testimony given to
grand juries and legislative investigators who, in turn, had
never sought to resolve various contradictions of fact or
challenge surmises, of which there was a superfluity. One
thing was certain: Doar and company simply were not
interested in obtaining exculpatory material of any kind,
a fact made obvious by their reluctance to call major wit-
nesses who could be subjected to cross-examination on past
statements and assertions.**

•Eventually a District of Columbia jury voted to acquit Connally,
who had produced a dazzling array of character witnesses to testify
that he was a man of “honor and integrity.” The witnesses, mostly
Democrats, included Congresswoman Barbara Jordan, Lady Bird
Johnson, Robert McNamara, Democratic Chairman Bob Strauss,
and former Secretary of State Dean Rusk.

••For a reasoned but devastating critique of the articles of im-
peachment, see the minority views expressed in the Report on the
Impeachment of Richard M. Nixon, President of the United States
of the Judiciary Committee, as published August 22, 1974, in the
Congressional Record, pp. H-9059 to H-9101. These were the views
of Messrs. Hutchinson, Smith, Sandman, Wiggins, Dennis, Mayne,
Lott, Moorhead, Maraziti, and Latta.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 427

Instead the committee unloaded a mountain of material,
the sheer weight of which was bound to have an effect,
for it consisted mainly of a one-sided presentation of in-
formation taken from previous investigations, deliberately
slanted to make President Nixon appear to be evil incar-
nate. All of which, to a few observers at least, seemed a bit
much. As Crosby S. Noyes put it in the Washington Star:
“It is hard to avoid the impression that if a truly evil man
set out consciously to abuse the formidable powers of the
presidency, he would have raised a great deal more hell
than Nixon has managed to do and would have ben a great
deal harder to stop.” And it could also have been argued
that the impeachment charges involving the alleged misuse
of govermnent agencies — the FBI, CIA, IRS, and the like
—could just as readily have been brought against almost
every president from Franklin Roosevelt on, and most par-
ticularly against John Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson.

Of course this was no time for reason. Few really cared
what was contained in the articles. A bandwagon psychol-
ogy had gripped Washington and the move toward im-
peachment was feeding on its own momentum. The media
was in a frenzy. The Nixon-haters, who had seized on
Watergate as lifeblood, smelled victory in the offing. They
were finally going to “get” the man who had so galled them
with his big win in 1972. All eyes were trained on the em-
battled White House.

After the deed was done, after Nixon raised his arms in
the familiar double victory sign, stepped into the helicopter,
and disappeared into the sky, Congressman Conyers told an
interviewer: “But for the tapes, there would never have
been an impeachment. Richard Nixon literally caused him-
self to be impeached.”*

And Leon Jaworski agreed. Interviewed shortly after the
President’s resignation, the Watergate special prosecutor said
that had it not been for the tapes, “Mr. Nixon would still
be in the White House.”

Then why, if he had been engaged in a conspiracy to
obstruct justice, as alleged in Article I, had he turned over
the tapes which led to his downfall? Why hadn’t he gone

* As it turned out, neither the House of Representatives nor the
United States Senate had the opportunity to vote on impeachment.

428

VICTOR LASKY

ahead and obstructed justice? Why, at the very beginning,
hadn’t he taken all the tapes and put the torch to them on
the White House lawn — as John Connally and Pat Buchan-
an, among others, had recommended? These are questions
historians are going to be asking themselves. And their an-
swers may well be different from those of most observers
in recent years. For say what you will about Nixon, the
preservation of the tapes was hardly the act of a man who
knew in his heart he was guilty of crimes. Of course there
is the argument that, being too lawyerly and believing in the
law, Nixon didn’t have the heart to destroy evidence. The
problem with this theory, as Nicholas von Hoffman has
noted, is that it runs counter to “the utterly shamless devil-
man hypothesis,” as propounded by many Nixon-baiters.
Therefore, as von Hoffman pursued the subject, “if Richard
Nixon is not purely evil, the question of why and how he
was removed ceases to be an unalloyed struggle between
the forces of darkness and light.” In other words not all the
Good Guys were necessarily “good” or the Bad Guys neces-
sarily “bad.” Human frailties were more than abundant on
both sides.

By this time the dwindling Nixori forces were in disarray,
unable to stem the irreversible tide. They could take faint
comfort in some of the praise accorded Nixon by avowed
enemies. Thus prior to the resignation Philip L. Geyelin,
editorial page editor of the Washington Post, had this to
say in a speech before (of all places) the Women’s Na-
tional Democratic Club:

“The supreme irony of it is that there is in fact much to
be said for the Nixon foreign policy — it has worked in
some instances rather conspicuously well. You can argue
that the evolution with China was coming anyway; but
President Nixon made it happen, at a political risk which
a Democratic President might not have been willing to
take. You can argue that we should have gotten out of
Vietnam much faster than we did — that it cost us as much
under Nixon in lives and treasure, while getting out, as it
did for Lyndon Johnson to get us in. But Johnson and
preceding Presidents did get us in. Nixon did get us out.
The same thing may be said for the Mid-east. President
Nixon’s celebrated structure for peace didn’t save Israel
from its fourth war with the Arabs — and its costliest. But
you can argue that there had to be that war and that cruel

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 429

near-defeat of Israel — that plain showing of Arab military
capability — before you could negotiate today’s disengage-
ment, and open up the first genuine opportunity for honest
negotiations toward a lasting settlement. We had also to
create with considerable skill and effort the breakthrough
with the Arabs in general and Egypt in particular that made
the trip possible. And Nixon and Kissinger did it.”

Few of the critics were as objective in their appraisals of
Nixon’s undoubted achievements. And most of them roared
with disapproval when a compassionate Gerald Ford par-
doned his predecessor. Dr. Hunter S. Thompson of Rolling
Stone was jolted out of a sweat-soaked coma that black
Sunday by a frantic telephone call from Dick Tuck. “Ford
pardoned the bastard!” the trickster screamed. “I warned
you, didn’t I? I buried him twice, and he came back from
the dead both times. . . . Now he’s done it again; he’s run-
ning around loose on some private golf course in Palm
Desert.” The hysteria spread across the land. There were
cries of “sellout” and “a deal.” The integrity of the new
President was called into question. Once again Washington
was out of joint. Shades of the Inquisition and Oliver
Cromwell. The witch-hunters were at it again, filling the
air with righteousness and virtuous declamation.

‘The tone of this attack,” wrote Richard Wilson,

clearly seeks to establish the historical base that Nix-
on’s offenses were so enormous that they threatened the
continuance of free government, for which he should
have been made to pay by public trial, conviction and
sentence to prison even if he never served a day.

More mature consideration may focus on the hys-
terical exaggeration of such conclusions, taking into
consideration that the chief impeachable offense. Ar-
ticle I of the Bill of Impeachment, grew from a ludi-
crous act about which Nixon knew nothing in advance.

The cry for the last drop of blood continued even when
it became known that the former President was suffering
from a flareup of his phlebitis. Much of the media ex-
pressed doubt about the illness, implying it was all a ruse
designed to keep Nixon from testifying in Sirica’s court-
room. There was the cartoon by Oliphant, for example,
showing Nixon propped up under a veranda, faithful dog

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VICTOR LASKY

King Timahoe by his side. Nixon was pictured telling his
doctor that his condition was aggravated by his inability to
get his tapes and records from Washington, and could he
write him a prescription? The omnipresent Punk the Pen-
guin, in an aside, says, “Somebody tell him he has the
wrong foot up.”

Even when Nixon was rushed to the hospital for an
emergency operation on his leg, few of his critics could
summon compassion. Some, in fact, hoped for the worst. “I
don’t care if Nixon dies,” a PBS commentator muttered. “If
he does, I hope he twists slowly in the wind as he goes.”
And it galled the humanitarians of the left that President
Ford would ignore the potential political damage to visit
Nixon’s bedside and wish him well. Also annoying was the
mountain of letters and telegrams, mostly from ordinary
citizens, which descended on San Clemente. Then there
were the phone messages with “get well” wishes from Kissin-
ger; Secretary of the Treasury Simon; Betty Ford; the shah
and empress of Iran; Chinese Premier Chou En-lai; former
prime minister of Japan, Nobusuke Kishi; Romanian Presi-
dent Nicolae Ceausescu; and — perhaps more significantly
— scores of returned prisoners of war released the previous
year from Hanoi prisons. For these former PWs felt that
if it hadn’t been for Nixon they would still be languishing
in North Vietnam.

Nixon of course came out of the hospital, ready to use
his unquestioned talents not only to rehabilitate himself
but to encourage the nascent belief that he was, indeed,
hounded out of office by cruel and implacable foes who
had no regard for the long-range interests of the nation.
Which is why his enemies let loose a barrage of ferocious
comments when he signed to write his memoirs and to re-
spond to questions from David Frost in exclusive television
interviews. The paranoid fear that Nixon might rise from
the ashes, first voiced by Dick Tuck, began to haunt his
critics.

When the long-awaited report of the Watergate special
prosecutor finally was issued in October 1975, its several
hundred pages also proved to be a downer for the critics
who had been hoping for new revelations about the dark
doings of the Nixon administration. “If the report evokes
a sense of disappointment,” commented The New York

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 431

Times, somewhat balefully, “it is because the Special Prose-
cutor evidently saw no fruitful way of reaching the end
of the trail.”

But that’s precisely what did happen. The outgoing
prosecutor, Henry Ruth, had indeed come to the end of
the trail and found that most of the Watergate-related
issues, though sensationally damning when they had ap-
peared in the headlines, had come to nothing. Thus at the
end the special prosecutor had to acknowledge that he and
his staff could come up with no new bombshells and that,
in fact, the old bombshells had proved to be duds.

And the biggest dud of all was the case of Bebe Rebozo,
whose only “crime,” as it turned out, was his close friend-
ship with the former President. After two years of well-
publicized investigations by the Senate Watergate Com-
mittee, the Internal Revenue Service, assorted gumshoes of
the media, and the Watergate Special Prosecution Force
itself, Henry Ruth was forced to concede that there was no
evidence of wrongdoing by Rebozo. In all the various fed-
eral investigations into Rebozo’s affairs cost the American
taxpayer a minimum of $3 million.

On issue after issue, allegation after allegation, the
special prosecutor reported that after intensive investiga-
tions he and his staff could come up with no evidence that
would warrant action in the courts. Thus “although a
large number of allegations about possible misuses of the
IRS were investigated” — including the alleged efforts to in-
fluence the agency to audit various political “enemies” — the
prosecutor reported that nothing was uncovered that could
have resulted in criminal charges. About White House
ordered wiretaps directed at a number of government of-
ficials and newsmen, the prosecutor found most of them to
be justified within the law. As for two questionable taps,
there was “insufficient evidence to bring criminal charges.”
Nixon and his lawyers moreover were not shown to have
been guilty of fraud in connection with the former Presi-
dent’s tax returns. And so on and so forth.

Thanks largely to a media lusting for blood, all of these
issues and allegations had been used to inflame the atmo-
sphere of Nixon’s final days and facilitate his removal
from office. Yet, as the special prosecutor’s report made
clear, none of them amounted to very much. And with

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VICTOR LASKY

the passage of time even Nixon’s guilt in the so-called ob-
struction of justice charge as contained in Article I of the
Bill of Impeachment was coming under skeptical examina-
tion. As for the White House tapes of June 23, 1972, the
disclosure of which prompted Nixon’s departure from
Washington, those “smoking gun” transcripts are subject to
varying interpretations regarding motive, context, knowl-
edge of fact on the part of the participants, and even exact-
ly what the conversation was all about.

What did happen that fateful day of June 23, 1972 —
six days after the bungled burglary at the Watergate? A
preoccupied President was scheduled to take off later that
Friday for a weekend at Camp David. He was tired and he
wanted a few days of solitude to think about the forthcom-
ing Republican Convention as well as the campaign itself.
But first there were a number of chores to be taken care
of. And his chief of staff, Haldeman, usual notebook in
hand, began to enumerate them. The time was shortly
after 10:00 a.m.; the place the Oval Office.

The conversation was rambling, jumping from subject
to subject. According to the transcript,* much of which
is garbled with “unintelligibles,” it began with a reference
to photography.

president: (Unintelligible) . . . they’ve got a magnificent
place —

haldeman: No, they don’t. See, that was all hand-held
cameras without lighting — lousy place. It’s good in con-
tent, it’s terrible in film quality.
president: (Unintelligible) Rose, she ought to be in here.
haldeman: No, we’ll let her in if you want to, sure —
president: That’s right. Got so goddamned much (scratch-
ing noises).

haldeman: Goddamned.

president: I understand, I just thought (unintelligible).
The one thing they haven’t got in there is the thing we
mentioned with regard to the armed services.

Haldeman: I covered that with Ehrlichman who says
that can be done and he’s moving. Not only armed
services, but the whole government.

♦Transcript released by the White House, August 5, 1974.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 433
president: GSA? All government?

haldeman: All government procurement, yeah. And, I
talked to John about that and he thought that was a good
idea. So Henry [Kissinger] gets back at 3:45.
president: I told Haig today that I’d see [State Secretary]
Rogers at 4:30.
haldeman: Oh, good, O.K.

president: Well, if he gets back at 3:45, he won’t be
here until 4:00 or 4:30.

haldeman: It’ll be a little after 4:00 (unintelligible) 5:00.
president: Well, I have to, I’m supposed to go to Camp
David. Rogers doesn’t need a lot of time, does he?
haldeman: No sir.
president: Just a picture?

haldeman: That’s all. He called me about it yesterday
afternoon and said I don’t want to be in the meeting
with Henry. I understand that but there may be a couple
of points Henry wants me to be aware of.
president: Sure. (Unintelligible) call him and tell him
we’ll call him as soon as Henry gets here, between 4:30
and 5:00 (unintelligible). Good.
haldeman: O.K., that’s fine.

And then without pausing for breath — “his voice flat,
unconcerned, familiar, curiously disengaged, filled with Bob
Newhart upward inflections,” according to a reporter who
heard the tape in court — Haldeman brought up a subject,
the disclosure of which two years later was to lead to the
toppling of a President. The background was this. By June
23 the FBI had been conducting a week-long investigation
of the break-in. The Bureau was leaning to the notion that,
considering the number of former personnel involved, the
whole affair might have been a “CIA operation.” Or so
Acting Director Gray had informed Dean the night be-
fore. Haldeman in turn had learned this, and more, from
Dean before he went in to see the President.

As of that moment neither Haldeman nor the President
had any real knowledge of the events leading up to the
break-in. And, if we are to believe Haldeman, they didn’t
particularly want to know. Which, in retrospect, probably
was Nixon’s major blunder. “Our greatest mistake,” wrote
Haldeman in June 1976,

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VICTOR LASKY

was in not getting ahead of the game at the outset,
finding out who were culpable and bringing them to
justice. The President and I, together with John
Ehrlichman, never quite made enough tough moves.
We were all afraid to find out. Afraid that what we
suspected might be the case, would, in fact, turn out
to be the case — that it went very high up, to Jeb
Magruder and even to John Mitchell. ... It is sig-
nificant, however, that despite all the investigations
and revelations, Mitchell has never been indicted in
connection with the break-in.

And as the record also shows, it was not until March
21, 1973, when Dean, saying, “I have the impression that
you don’t know everything I know,” told the President
everything he knew about the origins of Watergate.

But on June 23, 1972, what did concern the President
and his chief of staff was not Watergate as such, but the
sources of campaign contributions. The FBI was then clos-
ing in on the money sources and both Haldeman and
Nixon clearly wanted to sidetrack the investigation. In
their eyes it would have been embarrassing for major con-
tributors who had been promised anonymity.

One such contributor was Dwayne Andreas, a longtime
Humphrey supporter who figured the senator had no
chance of being nominated that year and therefore pre-
ferred Nixon to McGovern. On April 5, 1972, Andreas had
called Ken Dahlberg, a Nixon fund-raiser in the Midwest,
to tell him he wanted to contribute $25,000 in cash. And
he wanted to turn the money over before April 7, the legal
cutoff date for contributions which did not have to be
publicly reported. Andreas, who then was in Florida, sug-
gested that Dahlberg fly in to pick up the money. While
awaiting Dahlberg’s arrival, Andreas placed the cash in a
safe deposit box at his hotel. When Dahlberg finally arrived
on the night of April 7, the hotel’s vaults were closed.
The next day Andreas handed the money over on the
golf course. And because he didn’t want to carry all that
cash with him, Dahlberg had a cashier’s check made out to
himself at a bank in Boca Raton. It was dated April 9.

Two days later Dahlberg gave the check to Maurice
Stans, Nixon’s finance chairman, in Washington. Stans in
turn handed the check over to Hugh Sloan, treasurer of

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 435

the finance committee. Sloan said he would check with the
committee’s counsel on how to handle the check as well as
four Mexican checks totaling $89,000 which had come
from Texas donors who had also wished to remain anony-
mous by contributing before April 7 — the deadline before
new reporting requirements took effect. The counsel, G.
Gordon Liddy, said there would be no problem. After con-
sulting with Howard Hunt, Liddy flew to Miami where he
gave the checks to Bernard Barker, who then deposited
them to the account of his real estate firm. Then, in a
period of three weeks, Barker withdrew $114,000 in cash.
Liddy in turn handed it back to Sloan — minus $2,500 for
“expenses.”

All of which was on the minds of Maurice Stans and
John Mitchell when Dean met with them on June 21, 1972.
Of that meeting Dean later told the Ervin hearings, “Stans
was concerned about the Dahlberg check. I was informed
because it was in fact a contribution from Mr. Dwayne
Andreas, whom I did not know, but I was told was a
long-time backer of Senator Hubert Humphrey. Neither
Stans nor Mitchell wanted Mr. Andreas to be embarrassed
by disclosure of the [$25,000] contribution.” And, as he
later testified at the cover-up trial, Haldeman was fully
aware on June 23, 1972, when he saw the President, that
the $25,000 was from Andreas. “The understanding I had
that morning was that there was concern reported to me
by Mr. Dean on the part of the people at the Re-election
Committee that the FBI investigation was in fact going to
uncover the fact that Mr. Andreas, through Mr. Dahlberg,
had given $25,000.”

This then was the background for the crucial portions
of the “smoking gun” tape.

haldeman: Now, on the investigation, you know the Dem-
ocratic break-in thing, we’re back in the problem area
because the FBI is not under control, because Gray
doesn’t exactly know how to control it and they have
— their investigation is now leading into some productive
areas — because they’ve been able to trace the money —
not through the money itself — but through the bank
sources — the banker. And, and it goes in some directions
we don’t want it to go. Ah, also there have been some
things — like an informant came in off the street to the

436

VICTOR LASKY

FBI in Miami who was a photographer or has a friend
who is a photographer who developed some films through
this guy Barker and the films had pictures of Demo-
cratic National Committee letterhead documents and
things. So it’s things like that that are filtering in. Mitchell
came up with yesterday, and John Dean analyzed very
carefully last night and concludes, concurs now with
Mitchell’s recommendation that the only way to solve
this, and we’re set up beautifully to do it, ah, in that and
that — the only network that paid any attention to it last
night was NBC — they did a massive story on the Cuban
thing.

president: That’s right.

haldeman: That the way to handle this now is for us to
have Walters call Pat Gray and just say, “Stay to hell
out of this — this is ah, business here we don't want you
to go any further on it.” That’s not an unusual devel-
opment, and ah, that would take care of it.
president: What about Pat Gray — you mean Pat Gray
doesn’t want to?

haldeman: Pat does want to. He doesn’t know how to,
and he doesn’t have, he doesn’t have any basis for do-
ing it. Given this, he will then have the basis. He’ll call
[Associate Director] Mark Felt in, and the two of them
— and Mark Felt wants to cooperate because he’s am-
bitious —
president: Yeah.

haldeman : He’ll call him in and say, “We’ve got the signal
from across the river to put the hold on this.” And
that will fit rather well because the FBI agents who are
working the case, at this point, feel that’s what it is.
president: This is CIA? They’ve traced the money?
Who'd they trace it to?

haldeman: Well they’ve traced it to a name, but they
haven’t gotten to the guy yet.
president: Would it be somebody here?
haldeman: Ken Dahlberg.
president: Who the hell is Ken Dahlberg?
haldeman: He gave $25,000 in Minnesota and, ah, the
check went directly to this guy Barker.
president: It isn’t from the committee, though, from
Stans?

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

437

haldeman: Yeah. It is. It’s directly traceable and there’s
some more through some Texas people that went to the
Mexican Bank which can also be traced to the Mexican
Bank — they’ll get their names today — and (pause) —
president: Well, I mean, there’s no way — I’m just think-
ing if they don’t cooperate, what do they say? That they
were approached by the Cubans. That’s what Dahlberg
has to say, the Texans too, that they —
haldeman: Well, if they will. But then we’re relying on
more and more people all the time. That’s the problem
and they’ll stop if we could take this other route.
president: All right.

haldeman: And you seem to think the thing to do is get
them to stop?
president: Right, fine.

haldeman: They say the only way to do that is from
White House instructions. And it’s got to be to Helms
and to — ah, what’s his name — ? Walters.
president: [Deputy CIA Director Vernon] Walters.
haldeman: And the proposal would be that Ehrlichman
and I call them in, and say, ah —
president: All right, fine. How do you call him in — I
mean you just — well, we protected Helms from one hell
of a lot of things.

haldeman: That’s what Ehrlichman says.
president: Of course, this Hunt, that will uncover a lot
of things. You open that scab there’s a hell of a lot of
things and we just feel that it would be very detrimental
to have this thing go any further. This involves these
Cubans, Hunt and a lot of hanky-panky that we have
nothing to do with ourselves. Well what the hell, did
Mitchell know about this?

haldeman: I think so, I don’t think he knew the details,
but I think he knew.

president: He didn’t know how it was going to be handled
though — with Dahlberg* and the Texans and so forth?
Well who was the asshole that did? Is it Liddy? Is that
the fellow? He must be a little nuts.
haldeman: He is.

president: I mean he just isn’t well screwed on is he?
Is that the problem?

haldeman: No, but he was under pressure, apparently, to

438

VICTOR LASKY

get more information and as he got more pressure, he
pushed the people harder to move harder —
president: Pressure from Mitchell?
haldeman: Apparently.

president: Oh, Mitchell — Mitchell was at the point (un-
intelligible) .
haldeman: Yea.

president: All right, fine, I understand it all. We won’t
second-guess Mitchell and the rest. Thank God it wasn’t
Colson.

haldeman: The FBI interviewed Colson yesterday. They
determined that would be a good thing to do. To have
him take an interrogation, which he did, and that — the
FBI guys working the case concluded that there were
one or two possibilities — one, that this is a White
House — they don’t think that there is anything at the
election committee — they think it was either a White
House operation and they had some obscure reasons for
it — nonpolitical, or it was a Cuban and the CIA. And
after their interrogation of Colson yesterday, they con-
cluded it was not the White House, but are now con-
vinced it is a CIA thing, so the CIA turnoff would —
president: Well, not sure of their analysis, I’m not going
to get that involved. I’m (unintelligible).
haldeman : No, sir, we don’t want you to.
president: You call them in.
haldeman: Good deal.

president: Play it tough. That’s the way they play it and
that’s the way we are going to play it.
haldeman: O.K.

president: When I saw that news summary, I questioned
whether it’s a bunch of crap, I though, er, well it’s good
to have them off us awhile, because when they start
bugging us, which they have, our little boys will not
know how to handle it. I hope they will though.
haldeman: You never know.
president: Good.

haldeman : [Protocol chief Emil] Mosbacher has resigned.
president: Oh yeah?
haldeman: As we expected he would.
president: Yeah.

haldeman: He’s going back to private life (unintelligible).
Do you want to sign this or should I send it to Rose?

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

439

president: (scratching noise)
haldeman: Do you want to release it?
president: O.K. Great. Good job, Bob.
haldeman: Kissinger?
president: Huh? That’s a joke.
haldeman: Is it?

president: Whenever Mosbacher came for dinners, you
see he’d have to be out escorting the person in and
when they came through the receiving line, Henry was
always with Mrs. Mosbacher and she’d turn and they
would say this is Mrs. Kissinger. He made a little joke.
haldeman: I see. Very good. O.K.
president: Well, good.

Then there ensued a somewhat disjointed discussion of
various unrelated topics. The topics included social se-
curity, revenue sharing, the debt ceiling, the downward
gyrations of the British pound and the Italian lira, foreign
problems which didn’t particularly interest the President
that morning.

“Okay,” said the President. “What else have you got
that’s amusing today?”

“That’s it,” said Haldeman.

But it wasn’t it. There was the issue of school busing,
and the President wanted to know whether John Ehrlich-
man thought “everybody is going to understand the bus-
ing?”

haldeman: That’s right.

president: And, ah, well (unintelligible) says no.
haldeman: Well, the fact is somewhere in between, I
think, because I think that (unintelligible) is missing
some.

president: Well, if the fact is somewhere in between, we
better do it.

haldeman: Yeah, I think Mitchell says, “Hell yes. Any-
thing we can hit on at anytime we get the chance — and
we’ve got a reason for doing it — do it.”
president: When you get in — when you get in (unin-
telligible) people, say, “Look the problem is that this
will open the whole, the whole Bay of Pigs thing, and
the President just feels that ah, without going into the

440

VICTOR LASKY

details — don’t, don’t lie to them to the extent to say
there is no involvement, but just say this is a comedy
of errors, without getting into it, the President believes
that it is going to open the whole Bay of Pigs thing up
again. And, ah, because the people are plugging for
(unintelligible) and that they should call the FBI in and
(unintelligible), don’t go any further into this case,
period! (Inaudible) our cause —
haldeman: Get more done for our cause by the opposition
than by us?

president: Well, can you get it done?
haldeman: I think so.

Then for about fifty minutes the President and his chief
of staff discussed the forthcoming campaign, and par-
ticularly the convention at Miami Beach. Nixon also said
he had been thumbing through his book Six Crises , and
found it such “fascinating reading” that “I want you to re-
read it, and I want Colson to read it, and anybody else” in
the campaign. And next, with Ron Ziegler entering the
office, followed a discussion of public relations matters.
The session ended at 11:39 a.m. Shortly after 1:00 p.m.,
Haldeman returned to the Oval Office.

president: O.K., just postpone (scratching noises) (un-
intelligible) just say (unintelligible) very bad to have
this fellow Hunt, ah, he knows too damned much, he was
involved — you happen to know that? If it gets out that
this is all involved, the Cuba thing it would be a fiasco.
It would make the CIA look bad, and it is likely to
blow the whole Bay of Pigs thing which we think would
be very unfortunate — both for CIA, and for the coun-
try, at this time, and for American foreign policy. Just
tell him to lay off. Don’t you?
haldeman: Yep, that’s the basis to do it on. Just leave it
at that.

president: I don’t want them to get any ideas we’re do-
ing it because our concern is political.
haldeman: Right.

president: And at the same time, I wouldn’t tell them it
is not political . . .
haldeman: Right.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 441

Later that same afternoon in the President’s office in
the Executive Office Building.

haldeman: No problem.
president: (Unintelligible)

haldeman: Well, it was kind of interesting. Walters made
the point and I didn’t mention Hunt, I just said that the
thing was leading into directions that were going to
create potential problems because they were exploring
leads that led back into areas that would be harmful to
the CIA and harmful to the government (unintelligible)
didn’t have anything to do (unintelligible).

At this point the telephone rang. It was Colson. The
President asked “Chuck” to telephone John Connally to
fill him in “about this quota thing,” adding, “I don’t want
him to read it in the paper before Monday. . . . Good,
fine.”

haldeman: Gray called and said, yesterday, and said that
he thought —

president: Who did? Gray?

haldeman: Gray called Helms and said I think we’ve run
right into the middle of a CIA covert operation.
president: Gray said that?

haldeman: Yeah. And (unintelligible) said nothing we’ve
done at this point and ah (unintelligible) says well it
sure looks to me like it is (unintelligible) and ah, that
was the end of that conversation (unintelligible) the
problem is it tracks back to the Bay of Pigs and it tracks
back to some other leads run out to people who had no
involvement in this, except by contacts and connection,
but it gets to areas that are liable to be raised? The whole
problem (unintelligible) Hunt. So at that point he kind
of got the picture. He said, he said we’ll be very happy
to be helpful (unintelligible) handle anything you want.
I would like to know the reason for being helpful, and I
made it clear to him he wasn’t going to get explicit (un-
intelligible) generality, and he said fine. And Walters
(unintelligible). Walters is going to make a call to Gray.
That’s the way we put it and that’s the way it was left.
president: How does that work though, how, they’ve got
to (unintelligible) somebody from the Miami bank.

442

VICTOR LASKY

haldeman: (Unintelligible). The point John makes — the
bureau is going on this because they don’t know what
they are uncovering (unintelligible) continue to pursue
it. They don’t need to because they already have their
case as far as the charges against these men (unin-
telligible) and ah as they pursue it (unintelligible) ex-
actly, but we didn’t in any way say we (unintelligible) .
One thing Helms did raise. He said Gray — he asked
Gray why they thought they had run into a CIA thing
and Gray said because of the characters involved and
the amount of money involved, a lot of dough. (Unin-
telligible) and ah (unintelligible).
president: (Unintelligible).
haldeman: Well, I think they will.

president: If it runs (unintelligible) what the hell who
knows (unintelligible) contributed CIA.
haldeman: Ya, it’s money CIA gets money (unintelligible)

I mean their money moves in a lot of different ways, too.
president: Ya. How are (unintelligible) — a lot of good.
haldeman: (Unintelligible).

president: Well you remember what the SOB did on
my book? When I brought out the fact, you know.
haldeman: Ya.

president: That he knew all about Dulles? (Expletive de-
leted) Dulles knew. Dulles told me, I know, I mean (un-
intelligible) had the telephone call. Remember had a
call put in — Dulles just blandly said and knew why.*
haldeman: Ya.

president: Now, what the hell! Who told him to do it?
The President? (Unintelligible).

♦The reference was to Allen Dulles, who headed the CIA in the
Eisenhower and early Kennedy years. In Six Crises Nixon com-
plained how Kennedy had taken advantage of CIA briefings he had
received as a presidential candidate. According to Nixon, Kennedy
had been informed of the covert operation being planned to topple
Castro. Under the circumstances Nixon felt it was unfair for Ken-
nedy to have urged more militant U.S. action. As a consequence,
Nixon wrote, he had been unable to reply publicly because to do so
would surely have disclosed secret plans. When Six Crises was pub-
lished in 1962, Dulles issued a press release saying he had not
discussed CIA “plans or programs for action, overt or covert” with
the Democratic candidate. Obviously Nixon felt he had been led
to believe otherwise by Dulles himself.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 443

haldeman: Dulles was no more Kennedy’s man than
(unintelligible) was your man (unintelligible).
president: (Unintelligible) covert operation — do anything
else (unintelligible).

The rest of the twenty-five minute conversation dealt
primarily with campaign matters.

It is obvious from all this that it was Haldeman, not
Nixon, who initiated the suggestion that the FBI be asked
to limit the scope of its inquiries. And, contrary to the gen-
erally held assumption, the primary concern in the Oval
Office was not about the break-in itself but rather the five
telltale campaign checks which had incredibly been laun-
dered — not illegally, incidentally — through Bernard Bar-
ker’s bank account in order to safeguard the identities of
the donors. As Haldeman later put it, “The June 23 tape
does turn out to be the most damaging evidence available
because it shows a political motivation in bringing the
CIA and FBI together. But it did not represent an obstruc-
tion of justice in the Watergate case, and that’s what I was
indicted for. It was purely a question of trying to prevent
a source of campaign donations from being disclosed. And
that was political. So maybe we used the CIA and FBI
politically — but not in terms of obstructing justice.”

And it was Nixon who kept raising the issue of national
security — the possibility that FBI inquiries might extend
into Mexico and interfere with CIA covert activities unre-
lated to Watergate. Similarly the President voiced concern
that further investigation of the activities of former CIA
agent Hunt, whose name had been linked publicly with
the break-in several days earlier, would “blow the whole
Bay of Pigs thing which we think would be very un-
fortunate — both for CIA, and for the country. . . .” Thus
whether the CIA was a reason or an excuse for White
House meddling in the FBI investigation is open to ques-
tion, particularly in view of later testimony by L. Patrick
Gray before the Senate Watergate Committee.

Gray, as acting FBI director, testified that, responding
to the request of White House aides, he had contacted
CIA Director Helms to determine whether any of the
Agency’s covert activities, especially in Mexico, could be
compromised by a full FBI investigation. Gray said his
finding was negative.

444

VICTOR LASKY

But Gray also testified that two weeks after the break-in,
after he had expressed concern to Nixon that members of
the White House staff were about to “mortally wound you,”
the President replied as follows:

“Pat, you just continue your aggressive and thorough
investigation.”

Asked later what kind of defense he had been planning
had the impeachment process reached the Senate, presi-
dential lawyer St. Clair said: “It would have been ap-
propriate to argue that whatever was done was not of the
magnitude to justify impeaching a President. Secondly, in
fact, the FBI was not impaired in its investigation, that
within a matter of two weeks they were instructed to carry
on their investigation without interruption and that there
was some reason to believe that maybe the FBI investiga-
tion was in fact impinging on CIA prerogatives. . .

Several weeks before the “smoking gun” transcripts
were released, the President’s chief of staff A1 Haig un-
expectedly telephoned his predecessor, “Bob” Haldeman,
and asked whether he recalled anything about his June 23,
1972, meeting with the President.

“Think carefully,” said Haig. “Do you recall any prob-
lems with it?”

“Absolutely not,” replied Haldeman, who felt that at
most the conversations were an embarrassment, rather
than a problem, to the President.

The President, however, felt the conversations did con-
stitute a problem as well as an embarrassment. Curiously,
for a man who was alleged to have engineered one of his-
tory’s greatest conspiracies, Nixon had only a dim recollec-
tion of the June 23, 1972, conversations. It was only when
he listened to the controversial tape two years later that
his memory was refreshed. And for the life of him he
couldn’t see anything in it that could conceivably point to
an obstruction of justice. In any event nothing came of
Haldeman’s proposed curtailment and a full FBI investiga-
tion proceeded with the expressed approval of the Presi-
dent. Embarrassing the tape was, but hardly fatal, in the
President’s view. And so he tried to reassure his staff, most
of whom by now were too shaken by the relentless media
barrage and the certainty of impeachment to think very
clearly. Panic overtook the President’s closest advisers.
For them the tapes appeared to be the “smoking gun”

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 445

that the President’s enemies had been feverishly seeking
to prove Nixon’s infamy conclusively. And the irony was
— as one of those advisers, Patrick Buchanan, later con-
ceded — that had the tapes been released earlier with the
others, the impact probably would have been minimal. But
standing alone at that late hour, they took on an ominous
significance, particularly since Nixon had previously stated
that he had disclosed everything pertinent to the House
inquiry. As the President admitted, they were “at variance
with certain of my previous statements.” In other words
the President in effect conceded that he had lied. And
that probably was more damaging to his cause than what
was recorded on the tapes.

One would have thought from the consequent uproar
that previous presidents had never lied; that what Nixon
had done was peculiarly Nixonian. The fact is, however,
that mendacity is intrinsic in the government process.
Franklin Roosevelt lied about not getting involved in
foreign wars; Eisenhower lied about the U-2 flight; Ken-
nedy lied about the Bay of Pigs; and Johnson lied about
Vietnam. And in each of those cases far more was at
stake than a third-rate political burglary. For, as the slogan
had it at the time, “No one died at the Watergate.”

Lying is not uncommon among media folks either. There
was the case of Daniel Schorr, the CBS correspondent who
won numerous kudos for his Watergate coverage. In early
1976 Schorr arranged to sell a copy of a secret congression-
al report on the CIA to The Village Voice. In a highly
questionable transaction he also arranged for the proceeds
to go to the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press.
But when the report was published, Schorr flatly denied
having anything to do with it. He told fellow newsmen: “I
have no knowledge of how The Village Voice acquired its
copy. I had no connection with it. . . And he also
denied having made any approach to the Reporters Com-
mittee about the assignment of the profits. At the same
time he did not level with his superiors at CBS News,
letting suspicion fall on one of his colleagues, Lesley
Stahl. Later Schorr confessed his duplicity. But instead of
being disgraced he became a media hero. Among other
things he was honored with a National Headliners Award.
And though suspended from broadcasting, he still collected
his full pay for a time from CBS News. He was lionized.

446

VICTOR LASKY

Even Secretary Kissinger told a reporter that Schorr “had
gotten a bump rap.” In other words it all depends who
does the lying.

On the evening of August 8, 1974, one hour before he
went on national television to announce his resignation,
Nixon met with forty-six of his staunchest congressional
supporters — twenty senators and twenty-six representa-
tives — to say good-bye. These were old comrades-in-arms,
mainly from the Chowder and Marching Club which
Nixon, as a young congressman from California, had
helped form with other youthful Republicans back in 1949.
Some Democrats, largely from the South, were also present.
All had rallied behind the President in the past and most,
if not all, were willing to rally behind him in his hour of
greatest need.

The President arrived shortly after 8:00 p.m. and was
greeted with a standing ovation. “It was,” a Midwest con-
gressman recalled, “a lengthy greeting that I am sure moved
the President.” After a few tense moments the President
spoke of his family, who had stood by him so steadfastly
throughout his troubles. But, he went on, he had made his
decision to resign “on the premise that the presidency is
bigger than any man. Yes, even bigger than your personal
loyalty.” Of course, too, it was obvious to him that a vote
against him in the House was inevitable and that the num-
ber of votes he would need for acquittal in the Senate was
probably more than he could muster. There were those who
had counseled him to “fight it all through,” but he said
what seemed to him most important was that this “long,
debilitating thing called Watergate should come to an end
and a lengthy trial in the Senate would be just too much for
the country.” And the problems facing the nation, both
domestically and abroad, required the services of a “full-
time President.” ,He went on: “As much as I would have
preferred to fight it out, the country cannot afford a half-
time President and a half-time Senate.

“Watergate,” said the President, “divides our country
... it gnaws particularly among men of good will right
here in the Congress. One needs Congressional support to
be credible abroad and I don’t have it anymore. There-
fore I will resign effective at noon tomorrow. I shall leave
the White House around 10:00 a.m. and Vice President
Ford will be sworn in at noon in the Oval Office, as I am

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 447

winging my way back to California. I will still have the
little black box aboard the plane up to the moment of
transition. Jerry Ford is a good man, but no matter how
good a man, how clever ... he needs your support, your
affection and your prayers. . . .

“This is my last meeting in this room,” he went on. “I
will not be back here. But without you — believe me, boys
— gentlemen — I couldn’t have made these tough calls with-
out you. I particularly appreciate your calls of comfort . . .
I want to say most of all I appreciate your friendship more
than ever and I hope you won’t feel I have let you down.”
At which point the President lost his composure. Some
of his friends sought to comfort him. Barry Goldwater, his
eyes running with tears, hugged him. Then the President
quickly left the room. For he had only fifteen minutes be-
fore he was to address the nation on television.

And as the Midwest congressman later recorded the
scene, “The room was filled with tears, for each of these
men had a really deep-seated affection, respect and feeling
for Richard Nixon, the man, and probably felt closer to
him at that moment than at any time before. I surely did
and shall remember it for the rest of my life.”

At 9:00 p.m., fully composed, the President began his
thirty-seventh and last speech to the American people from
the Oval Office. “I would have preferred to carry through
to the finish,” he said, “whatever the personal agony it
would have involved, and my family unanimously urged
me to do so. But the interests of the nation must always
come before any personal considerations. ... I have
never been a quitter. To leave office before my term is
completed is opposed to every instinct in my body. But
as President I must put the interests of America first. . . .
Therefore I shall resign the Presidency effective at noon
tomorrow.”

The President walked back alone to the residence. There
he had dinner with his family. Then he and Mrs. Nixon
took a last sentimental walk around the White House.

The next day the President bade farewell to his staff
and members of his cabinet in the East Room. He re-
ceived a standing ovation. And standing behind him,
David Eisenhower thought how hard his father-in-law had
worked to become President and how much he wanted to
do a good job, and now “it was like watching a man

448

VICTOR LASKY

die.” The President expressed his thanks to those who
had served him and closed with this admonition:

“Never be petty. Always remember: others may hate
you. Those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them.
And then you destroy yourself.”

Then he was gone.

SOURCES

CHAPTER 1

Waldie on Nixon pardon: Court Gifford, Federal Times ,
Jan. 8, 1975; Wallis on reaction to Watergate: speech, Roberts
Wesleyan College, June 10, 1973; Solzhenitsyn quoted: N.Y,
Times , Sept. 15, 1973.

CHAPTER 2

Replies to New Yorker: May 20, 1974; Royster quoted:
Wall Street Journal , Jan. 8, 1975; Alsop on felony: Wash.
Post , July 2, 1973; Mankiewicz rebuttal: Wash. Post, June 9,
1975; Schlesinger quoted: Wall Street Journal , July 2, 1975;
Bartlett quoted: Wash. Star, Nov. 23, 1975; JFK quoted on
Wilson: Benjamin C. Bradlee, Conversations with Kennedy
(N.Y.: Norton, 1975), p. 135; JFK on Ohio: ibid., p. 18; JFK
on Baker: ibid., p. 215; JFK on Krock, ibid., p. 141; JFK on
Rocky, McCormack, and Humphrey war records: ibid., pp. 68,
74-75; New Republic on JFK-press; June 28, 1975; Exner on
JFK: N.Y. Times, Jan. 15, 1976; Roberts in National Observer:
Jan. 17, 1976; Truitt background: Human Events , Dec. 7,
1974; Oberdorfer on JFK-Meyer: Wash. Post, Feb. 23, 1976;
New Times quoted: July 9, 1976; Bradlee on JFK re Meyer:
op. cit., p. 54.

CHAPTER 3

W. Va. primary: Lasky, JFK: The Man and the Myth (N.Y.:
Macmillan, 1963), p. 346; FDR, Jr., quoted: ibid., p. 344; Tall-
mer in N.Y. Post: Sept. 10, 1966: Ike threat: Drew Pearson,
Wash. Post, Aug. 9, 1960; Hoffa in primary: Lasky, op. cit.,
p. 332; RFK-Robinson episode: Lasky, Robert F. Kennedy:
The Myth and the Man (N.Y.: Trident, 1968), pp. 157, 131-
132; Roche quoted: Philadelphia Bulletin, Sept. 9, 1972; Childs
quoted: N.Y. Post, March 28, 1960; National Review on Cor-
bin: Dec. 16, 1961; Dr. Cohen quoted: N.Y. Times, May 4,
1973; JFK’s Addison’s Disease: Lasky, JFK, pp. 375-378; Lund-

450

VICTOR LASKY

gren break-in: Long Beach Independent-Press Telegram, May
4, 1973; Hogan records stolen: N. Y. Times, Sept 30, 1973.

CHAPTER 4

Garth quoted: Jack Newfield, New York, Oct. 19, 1970,
pp. 28-31; JFK quoted: Lasky, JFK, p. 467; JFK on Hoffa:
The Joint Appearances of Senator John F. Kennedy and Vice
President Richard M. Nixon, Presidential Campaign 1960, p.
74; Commonweal quoted: July 22, 1960; Greenville (S.C.)
News quoted: Sept. 27, 1960; Roper in Saturday Review: Nov.
26, 1960; Nixon a “racist” and NAACP member: National
Observer, Oct. 27, 1972; Charges against Bellino: Congressional
Record, July 28, 1973, pp. S- 14944-1 4946; Investigation of
charges: Senate Select Committee on Presidential Campaign
Activities (Pursuant to S. Res. 60, 93d Congress), Sept. 11,
1973; Bellino cleared: Congressional Record, Nov. 19, 1973,
pp. S-208 17-20821.

CHAPTER 5

JFK-Daley call: Bradlee, op. cit., p. 33; Childs on vote
frauds: Wash. Post, July 21, 1973; Giancana-JFK: Memoirs
of Judith Campbell Exner, National Enquirer, Aug. 19, 1976;
Chicago Tribune on 1960 frauds: Dec. 11, 1960; N.Y. Herald-
Tribune on Texas frauds: Dec. 5, 1960; Look on stealing elec-
tion: Feb. 14, 1961; Sorensen quoted: Kennedy (N.Y.: Harper
& Row, 1965), pp. 231-232; Vanocur question: The Joint Ap-
pearances . . . Presidential Campaign 1960, p. 81; Nixon’s later
reply: Six Crises (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1962), p.
339; Wash. Star on JFK preparations: Nov. 13, 1960; Sorensen
on USIA polls: op. cit., pp. 203-204.

CHAPTER 6

JFK on firing IRS Republican: N.Y. Times, Jan. 6, 1974;
Bradlee on JFK information from IRS: op. cit., p. 218; V.
Reuther memo: M. Stanton Evans, Human Events, Nov. 17,
1973; W. F. Buckley quoted: Wash. Star, April 4, 1975.

CHAPTER 7

Bradlee on JFK-steel: op. cit., p. 77; JFK memo on press:
Wash. Post, Oct. 26, 1975; JFK gaps in logs: W. Safire, N.Y.
Times, Jan. 29, 1976; David Wise on JFK re Huntley-Brinkley:
The Politics of Lying (N.Y.: Random House, 1973), p. 254;
JFK on Fischetti cartoon: ibid., pp. 326-327; R. G. Spivack

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

451

quoted: N.Y. Herald-Tribune , June 10, 1962; F. Knebel in
Look: Aug. 28, 1962; Bradlee banished: op. cit., pp. 23-26;
Bradlee on Kennedy’s joke re steel: op. cit., pp. 111-112; JFK
on FBI-Baldwin: Bradlee, op. cit., p. 154; Wiretaps: Staff Mem-
orandum of Senate Intelligence Committee, “Political Abuse
and the FBI,” Dec. 3, 1975, and Wash. Post, Dec. 6 and 8,
1975; JFK-Halberstam episode: Lasky, Robert F. Kennedy, p.
176; McHugh phone bugged: Baltimore Sun, May 27, 1973;
RFK-Mazo episode: Lasky, JFK, p. 536; Rep. Wilson quoted:
Congressional Record, April 11, 1962, p. H-5884; Bishop IRS
audits: N.Y. World-Journal-Tribune, March 24, 1967; Sidney
quoted: Denis Brian, Murderers and Other Friendly People
(N.Y. McGraw-Hill, 1973), p. 247; Wiretap of press at New-
port: Paul S. Meskil and Gerard M. Callahan, Cheesebox
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1974), pp. 254-256;
Keating surveillance: N.Y. Post, May 19, 1973.

CHAPTER 8

Church quoted: Lasky, NANA, July 2, 1975; McGrory
quoted: Wash. Star, July 14, 1975, and Chicago Tribune, June
16, 1975; RFK-Bowles: Time, Feb. 16, 1962; Hoover memo
re Mafia-CLA: N.Y. Times, May 30, 1975; Houston briefed
RFK: Time, Aug. 4, 1975; Lansdale quoted: Wash. Star, May
31, 1975, and N.Y. Times, June 1, 1975; Operation Mongoose:
Alleged Assassination Plots Involving Foreign Leaders, An In -
terim Report of the Select Committee to Study Governmental
Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, U.S. Senate,
Nov. 20, 1975, Report No. 94—465, 94th Cong. 1st Session, pp.
148-170; Smathers quoted: Wash. Star, July 24, 1975; Rocke-
feller quoted: Wash. Post, June 16, 1975; Osborne comment:
New Republic, June 28, 1975; Harker interview: J. Anderson,
Wash. Post, July 27, 1975; Cubela connection: Alleged Asssas -
sination Plots Involving Foreign Leaders ...» pp. 86-90; An-
derson on RFK: op. cit.; LBJ Smith interview: Wash. Star,
June 25, 1976; LBJ on Trujillo and Diem assassinations: David
Wise, N.Y. Times Magazine, Nov. 3, 1968; Trujillo endorsed
JFK: Lasky, JFK, p. 448; Shannon recollection: N.Y. Times,
Aug. 8, 1975; U.S. Criminal Code on Dealing with Foreign
Countries: Nicholas Horrock, N.Y. Times, June 13, 1975;
Ydigoras on JFK: N.Y. Times, April 18, 1974; Wall Street
Journal on mistake: March 12, 1975; LBJ on Diem assassina-
tion: Wash. Post. June 23, 1974; Senate study on Vietnam:
Chicago Tribune, March 20, 1972; Diem assassination: Penta-
gon Papers (N.Y.: Bantam, 1971); Lodge quoted in 1975:
Wash. Post, July 25, 1975; Lodge’s last talk with Diem: Penta-
gon Papers, p. 232; “Assassination Report” of Senate Intelli-

452

VICTOR LASKY

gence Committee: Alleged Assassination Plots Involving For-
eign Leaders . . Walton on Op-Ed of N.Y. Times : Dec. 10,
1975; Eisenhower officials* denials: Evans & Novak, Wash.
Post, Dec. 3, 1975; McCone remarks to Murphy: Fortune ,
June 1975; Satire on Church Committee cover-up: N.Y. Times ,
Dec. 15, 1975; Von Hoffman on cover-up: N.Y. Post, Dec. 23,
1975.

CHAPTER 9

Freedman in Georgetown Law Journal: Vol. 55, No. 6 (May
1967), p. 1035; C. Shaffer on RFK-Hoffa: Victor Navasky,
Kennedy Justice (N.Y.: Atheneum, 1971), p. 406; Starnes col-
umn: N.Y. World Telegram & Sun , Jan. 26, 1961; Hentoff on
RFK: Village Voice, Dec. 9, 1974; Sheridan quoted: Navasky,
op. cit., p. 409; Warren dissent; ibid., 420-421; Hoffa com-
ment: ABC documentary “Close-Up,” Nov. 1974; Navasky
comment: op. cit., p. 432; Sen. Long comment: Lasky, Robert
F. Kennedy, p. 244; Chicago Tribune comment: ibid., p. 246;
Salinger memoir: With Kennedy (Garden City, N.Y.: Double-
day, 1966), pp. 20-21; Trohan comment: Chicago Tribune,
June 30, 1969; Hoover letter: Lasky, Robert F. Kennedy , pp.
351-352; RFK wiretapping: ibid., pp. 348-358; Von Hoffman
in Wash. Post: May 28, 1973; Mollenhoff on Rusk: Richmond
Times-Dispatch, May 26, 1974; Press hypocrisy on Otepka-
Ellsberg: Human Events, June 16, 1973.

CHAPTER 10

LBJ 1948 race: Alfred Steinberg, Sam Johnson* s Boy (N.Y.:
Macmillan, 1968), pp. 260-265; C. Stevenson on Democrats:
Wash. Star, June 24, 1975; Kohlmeier in Wall Street Journal:
March 23 and 24, 1964; Wheeler and Lambert in Life: Aug.
21, 1964; JFK on LBJ: Bradlee, op. cit., p. 216.

CHAPTER 11

Beichman on LBJ: New York (N.Y. Herald-Tribune), Jan.
17, 1965; LBJ on Baker a “son”: Eric F. Goldman, The Trag-
edy of Lyndon Johnson (N.Y.: Dell, 1969), p. 98; Mrs. Lincoln •»
on'JFK-LBJ: Kennedy and Johnson (N.Y.: Holt, Rinehart &
Winston, 1968), p. 205; Bradlee on JFK-LBJ: op. cit., pp. 217-
218; Goldman on LBJ -Baker: op. cit., p. 29; Reynolds-Baker
episode: Responses of the Presidents to Charges of Misconduct,
edited by C. Vann Woodward (N.Y.: Dell, 1974), pp. 329-
334; Goldman, op. cit., pp. 96-100, and Rowland Evans &
Robert Novak, Lyndon B. Johnson: The Exercise of Power

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

453

(N.Y.: New American Library, 1966), pp. 413-415; Sen. Curtis
on Democratic hypocrisy: Congressional Record , Nov. 7, 1973,
p. S-20080; LBJ TV interview on March 15, 1964: Evans &
Novak, op. cit., p. 415; Reedy on LBJ: Newsweek , Jan. 20,
1975; Crane on Democrats’ cover-up: Congressional Record ,
July 27, 1973, pp. E-5158-5159; LBJ asked FBI to check staff:
Time , Dec. 22, 1975; LBJ-RFK meeting: Theodore White, The
Making of the President 1964 (N.Y.: Atheneum, 1965), p. 265;
Treasury wire episode: Hearings Before the Select Committee
to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence
Activities , U.S. Senate, 94th Cong., 1st Session, Vol. 6, Federal
Bureau of Investigation, Nov. 18, 19, Dec. 2, 3, 9, 10, and 11,
1975, pp. 728-729.

CHAPTER 12

LBJ on Lady Bird: Time , Feb. 10, 1975; Sullivan memo to
Dean: Fred D. Thompson, At That Point in Time (N.Y.:
Quadrangle, 1975), pp. 126-144; FDR-J. P. Kennedy conver-
sation: Arthur Krock, Memoirs: Sixty Years on the Firing Line
(N.Y.: Funk & Wagnalls, 1968), p. 399; Boston Globe inter-
view: Joseph F. Dinneen, The Kennedy Family (Boston: Little,
Brown, 1959), pp. 80-87; Sullivan letter to Cambridge Confer-
ence: Privacy in a Free Society , Final Report, Annual Justice
Earl Warren Conference on Advocacy in the U.S. , June 7-8,
1974, Roscoe Pound- American Trial Lawyers Foundation, Cam-
bridge, Mass., pp. 92-99; Truman anti-Semitic remark: News-
week, Dec. 1, 1975; FDR and Jewish refugees: Gordon Thomas
and Max Witts, Voyage of the Damned (N.Y.: Stein & Day,
1974); Lindbergh’s travails: Walter S. Ross, The Last Hero
(N.Y.: Harper & Row, 1964); John Roosevelt quoted: Bob
Considine, Boston Herald- American , May 25, 1973; FDR pack-
ing Supreme Court: National Review, Nov. 23, 1973; FDR
favors for sons: Alva Johnston, Saturday Evening Post, July 2,
1938; Elliott’s financial problems: Finis Farr, FDR (New Ro-
chelle, N.Y.: Arlington House, 1972), pp. 271-275; John T.
Flynn quote: The Roosevelt Myth, p. 272, as quoted in Farr,
ibid., p. 275; Prof. Kurland quoted: Wash. Post, Dec. 22, 1974;
FDR bugging in 1936 campaign: National Observer, Oct. 27,
1972; H. Fish harassed by FDR: N.Y. Times, July 18, 1973;
FDR taps on advisers: Time, Dec. 22, 1975, Political Abuse
and the FBI, Staff Report, Senate Intelligence Committee, April
1976, and Wash. Post, May 10, 1976.

454

VICTOR LASKY

CHAPTER 13

Sullivan memo to Dean: Fred D. Thompson, op. cit.; LBJ
use of FBI on Democratic senators: Time , Aug. 27, 1973; LBJ
use of FBI at conventions: Sullivan memo, op. cit., and Hear-
ings before the Select Committee to Study Governmental Op-
erations with Respect to Intelligence Activities , U.S. Senate,
Vol. 6, pp. 503-510; Hobson-FBI connection: Wash. Post , Feb.
15, 1975; Wicker comment: N.Y. Times , Dec. 5, 1975; LBJ
and Mississippi delegation: Steinberg, op. cit., pp. 681-682;
N.Y. Times on L. Clark: Jan. 29, 1975; Goldwater on press:
Wash. Post, June 22, 1973; Roche on Goldwater speeches:
Philadelphia Bulletin , Sept. 29, 1972; Hunt a spy for LBJ:
Wash. Post, Dec. 20, 1973; N.Y. Times, Dec. 21, 1973, and
Dec. 31, 1974; Schorr episode: Lionel Lokos, Hysteria 1964,
the Fear Campaign Against Goldwater (New Rochelle, N.Y.:
Arlington House, 1967), pp. 123-124; N.Y . Times smear: ibid.,
p. 126; Knight comment: ibid.

CHAPTER 14

Moyers on White House: “An Essay on Watergate,” tran-
script; Moyers note to DeLoach: Hearings before the Select
Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to
Intelligence Activities , U.S. Senate, Vol 6, p. 510; FBI in-
quiries re Goldwater staffers: Goldman, op. cit., p. 299, and
Steinberg, op. cit., p. 689; Moyers explanation: Newsweek,
March 10, 1975; LBJ on Moyers: Steinberg, op. cit., p. 633;
Goldman on Moyers: op. cit., p. 129; LBJ campaign com-
mercial: N.Y. Times, Sept. 15, 1964; Thimmesch column: Bal-
timore Sun, May 7, 1974; “Five O’clock Club”: Evans & No-
vak, op. cit., pp. 468-469; Democrats on Goldwater: W. F.
Buckley, National Review, Nov. 9, 1973; LBJ resolution on
Vietnam: Steinberg, op. cit., p. 767; Tuck’s spy on Goldwater
train: Vic Gold, Potomac (Wash. Post), Sept. 7, 1975; and
Newsweek, Oct. 12, 1964; Village Voice on Tuck: Nov. 23,
1972; Sayre episode: Goldman, op. cit., pp. 270-271; Jenkins
memo: Chicago Tribune, Sept. 29, 1964; Jenkins episode: Re-
sponses of Presidents to Charges of Misconduct, pp. 335-336;
Evans & Novak, op. cit., pp. 479-480; Goldman, op. cit., pp.
295-299; Sen. Curtis on records disappeared: Congressional
Record, Nov. 7, 1973, p. S-20080; Greider in Wash. Post: Dec.
2, 1973; LBJ’s President’s Club: Washington Monthly, Sept.
1974.

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

455

CHAPTER 1 5

King tapes: N.Y. Times , March 9, 1975; LBJ and King
tapes: Hugh Sidey, Time , Feb. 10, 1975; Patterson on FBI re
King: Wash. Post , May 18, 1976; Katzenbach on reporter re
tapes: Supplementary Detailed Staff Reports on Intelligence
Activities and the Rights of Americans , Book III, Final Report
of the Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations
with Respect to Intelligence Activities , U.S. Senate, Report No.
94-755, 94th Cong., 2nd Session, April 23, 1976, pp. 152-153;
DeLoach memorandum: ibid., p. 153; Moyers on episode:
ibid., p. 154; Newsweek, March 10, 1975; Katzenbach on au-
thorizing King wiretap: Hearings before the Select Committee
to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence
Activities , U.S. Senate, Vol. 6, pp. 225-250; Hoover fed LBJ
sex information: Newsweek, Feb. 17, 1975; Rowan on LBJ:
Wash. Star, March 19, 1976; LBJ “name checks”: Staff Report,
Select Committee to Study Governmental Operation with Re-
spect to Intelligence Activities, U.S. Senate; N. Y. Times on
LBJ-RFK: Wash. Star, Oct. 12, 1975; Moyers on LBJ-Keams:
Wash. Star, Sept. 11, 1975; Alsop on LBJ’s White House: N.Y.
Herald-Tribune, Jan. 17, 1966; A. McCarthy on LBJ: Private
Faces, Public Places (N.Y.: Curtis, 1972), p. 284; LBJ and
Dominican Republic: Steinberg, op. cit ., p. 737; Thomasson on
LBJ: Wash. Star, Aug. 15, 1973; Kitt episode: Wash. Post ,
Feb. 12, 1973; CIA and dissidents: Text of William Colby’s
Report to Senate Appropriations Committee, N.Y. Times, Jan.
16, 1975; Hersh in N.Y. Times: Dec. 22, 1974; Rusk quoted:
N.Y. Times, Jan. 18, 1975; Two Clarks: Richard Wilson, Wash.
Star, Oct. 21, 1974; Rockefeller Commission report on Clark
and Doar: Report to the President by the Commission on CIA
Activities within the United States, June 1975, pp. 116-118;
Doar’s memo to Clark: Wash. Star, Jan. 22, 1975; Greider in
Wash. Post: Dec. 2, 1973; Kilpatrick on ’68 campaign: Wash.
Star, May 14, 1974; FBI use on Agnew in ’68: Hearings before
the Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with
Respect to Intelligence Activities, U.S. Senate, Vol. 6, p. 193;
Wiretaps on Chennault: ibid., pp. 195-196; Humphrey aware
of illegal activities: ibid., pp. 756-760; Humphrey warning to
S. Vietnam: Jack Anderson, Wash. Post, Aug. 11, 1973; CIA
in *68 campaign: William Safire, Before the Fall (Garden City,
N.Y.: Doubleday, 1975), p. 90; and N.Y. Times, April 1,
1975; Chomsky and Von Hoffman quoted: W. Safire, N.Y.
Times, Dec. 8, 1975.

456

VICTOR LASKY

CHAPTER 16

Cater quoted: Newsweek , Sept. 16, 1968; LBJ to Agnew:
John R. Coyne, Jr., The Impudent Snobs: Agnew vs. the In-
tellectual Establishment (New Rochelle, N.Y.: Arlington

House, 1972), p. 16; Humphrey aide quoted: Newsweek , Sept.
16, 1968; NBC bug: N.Y. Times , Sept. 7, 1968; Anderson
caught bugging: Drew Pearson Diaries , 1949-1959 , edited by
Tyler Abell (N.Y.: Holt, Hinehart & Winston, 1974), pp. 460-
461; C. Phillips on ’52 bugging: The Truman Presidency
(N.Y.: Macmillan, 1966), p. 421; British journalists quoted:
Lewis Chester, Godfrey & Bruce Page, An American Melo-
drama (N.Y.: Dell, 1969), p. 515; Kissinger on Nixon: N.Y .
Times , Oct. 17, 1975.

CHAPTER 17

Thompson on advance knowledge: At That Point in Time,
pp. 207-230; Advance knowledge: Minority Staff Report, In-
vestigation of Advance Knowledge of Illegal Political Espio-
nage, Senate Select Committee on Presidential Campaign Activi-
ties; Jack Anderson on advance knowledge: Parade, July 22,
1973; Wash. Post, July 25, 1973; Helms destroyed tapes:
Thompson, op. cit., p. 152; CIA connection: Thompson, ibid.,
pp. 145-182; Baker report on CIA-Watergate: Minority Staff
Report on CIA Involvement in Watergate.

CHAPTER 18

Neal quoted: Time, Jan. 13, 1975; Nixon-Dean conversation
of Feb. 28, 1973: Submission of Recorded Presidential Con-
versations to the Committee on the Judiciary of the House of
Representatives by Richard M. Nixon, April 30, 1974, pp. 108-
109; Nixon-Dean conversation of March 21, 1973: ibid., pp.
172-183; Rosenbaum in Village Voice: Aug. 8, 1974; Hughes
hired Democratic lawyers: Philadelphia Inquirer, republished
in Congressional Record, March 17, 1976, p. E-1350; March
18, 1976, p. E-1402; McCord and bombing incidents: A Piece
of Tape (Rockville, Md.: Washington Media Services, 1974),
pp. 15-16; Martinez article: Harpefs, October 1974; Weicker
meeting with Miamians: Wash. Post , Oct. 14, 1973.

CHAPTER 19

Wallis speech: op. cit.; S. Alsop on liberal journalists: James
Keogh, President Nixon and the Press (N.Y.: Funk & Wag-

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

457

nails, 1972), pp. 43-44; Nixon on Hiss in Six Crises , pp. 3-4;
Senate vote on “slush funds”: Wash. Star , Oct. 9, 1975; Media
spokesmen quoted: Keogh, op. cit ., pp. 6, 8-9; Broder on
breaking the President: Satire, op. cit., p. 171; Kissinger on
leaks: Lokos, op. cit., p. 44; Senate Foreign Relations Hearing:
N.Y. Times , Sept. 8, 1973; Goldwater on leak: Family Week -
ly, Oct. 14, 1973; Nixon-Dean quote: William Shannon, N.Y.
Times, July 23, 1974; Colson affidavit on leaks: N.Y. Times,
April 30, 1974; Colson on Hanoi rejection of peace: Chicago
Tribune, May 14, 1975; Carter on press: W. Satire, N.Y. Times,
Sept. 16, 1976; Transcript of Nixon-Dean conversation: op. cit.,
pp. 157-158; Thimmesch on Kissinger testimony: Park East,
Jan. 31, 1974; N.Y. Times editorial: June 11, 1974; J. Alsop
on pre-Nixon taps on him: reprinted in Congressional Record ,
June 17, 1974, p. S-10696; lOraft on Kissinger: as quoted in
Human Events, June 22, 1974.

CHAPTER 20

Salinger in Life: Dec. 29, 1972; McGovern on blame: Wash.
Post, Oct. 26, 1975; Osborne in New Republic: Oct. 21, 1972;
Mankiewicz-Novak episode: Richard Reeves, New York,
March 11, 1974; McGovern tricks on Lindsay and Muskie:
Frank Mankiewicz, Perfectly Clear (N.Y.: Quadrangle, 1973),
pp. 10-12; Cannon review of Mankiewicz book: Wash. Post,
Jan. 7, 1974; Van Dyk on tactics: Newsweek, Oct. 22, 1973;
Roche on Muskie episode: Saturday Review /World, July 13,
1974; Background checks by Sheridan: Mankiewicz, op. cit.,
p. 20; McGovern dirty tricks: N.Y. Times, Oct. 11, 1973; Wash.
Post, Nov. 7, 1973; Haldeman on Tuck activities: from Halde-
man’s Opening Statement at Senate Watergate Hearings, as
published in Watergate: Chronology of a Crisis (Washington:
Congressional Quarterly, 1973), Vol. 1, pp. 244-245; Nixon on
Segretti: Submission of Recorded Presidential Conversations to
the Committee on the Judiciary of the House of Representa-
tives by Richard M. Nixon, pp. 103-104; Drew interview of
McGovern: Transcript, “Thirty Minutes with ... ”, PBS,
Channel 26, WETA-TV, Washington, D.C., June 14, 1973;
Tuck scared: Wash. Star, Sept. 30, 1973; Mankiewicz testi-
mony on dirty tricks: Wash. Star, Oct. 12, 1973; Corbett letter
re Fialka article: Wash. Star, June 30, 1973; Rosenbaum on
McGovern illegitimate child story: Village Voice, June 27,
1974.

458

VICTOR LASKY

CHAPTER 21

Noyes in Wash. Star: Sept. 21, 1972; Eagleton on spying:
Visalia Times Delta, June 15, 1973; Washingtonian article:
Harvey Katz, Sept. 1973; Hentoff on Sirica: Village Voice,
June 28, 1973; Mansfield on Ervin: James M. Naughton, N.Y.
Times Magazine, May 13, 1973; Participation by reporters:
Thomas Collins, Newsday, republished in Congressional Rec-
ord, Sept. 20, 1973, pp. E-5963-5964; Thompson on McGrory:
op. cit ., p. 234; Dash background: Adrian Lee, Philadelphia
Bulletin, Sept. 30, 1973; Dash hired convicted bugging expert:
Thompson, op. cit., pp. 35-36; Lenzner background: Thomp-
son, op. cit., p. 33, and Human Events , June 2, 1973; Wilson
quoted: Wash. Star, Aug. 23, 1973; Lowi quoted: N.Y. Times ,
Op-Ed, Sept. 23, 1973; Lenzner-Moore episode: Thompson,
op. cit., pp. 69-70; Krogh on Dean: Baltimore Sun, Jan. 28,
1974; Buchanan testimony: N.Y. Times, Sept. 27, 1973; Reac-
tions to Buchanan: Thompson, op. cit., pp. 117-119; Crouse
article: Rolling Stone , Nov. 22, 1973; Dash reaction: N.Y.
Times, Nov. 20, 1973; Armstrong suspension: New York, May
20, 1974; Simonds in The Alternative: Nov. 1973; Weicker as
leaker: Bill Anderson, Chicago Tribune, July 11, 1973; Colson-
Weicker encounter: Charles W. Colson, Born Again (Old Tap-
pan, N.J.: Chosen Books, 1976), pp. 105-107; Weicker and
IRS audits: Wall Street Journal, April 17, 1974; Haldeman on
hiring Dean: Wash. Star, June 23, 1976; Huston quoted: N.Y.
Times, May 24, 1973; FBI illegal entries: N.Y. Times, Sept. 24,
1975; Case on “enemy list”: Gould Lincoln, Wash. Star, July
14, 1973; Dean list of McGovern supporters: Wash. Post, Dec.
22, 1973; DeBakey comment: N.Y. Times, July 7, 1973; Mills-
Long report: Chicago Tribune, Aug. 30, 1974; Wash. Star
quoted: Aug. 2, 1973; Wall Street Journal on critics: Aug. 9,
1973; Cox background: Human Events, Aug. 4, 1973; Chicago
Tribune, Oct. 13, 1968; Wash. Post , May 26, 1973; Cox staff:
Washingtonian, December 1974; Merrill background: James
Dickenson, National Observer, Aug. 18, 1973; Kennedy quoted:
Wash. Post, Oct. 21, 1973; Wash. Star quoted: Oct. 28, 1973;
Cox leak episode: Wash. Post, Oct. 31, 1973; N.Y. Times, Oct
31, 1973; Jaworski and staff : Newsweek, Nov. 12, 1973; Time,
Dec. 3, 1973; Saxbe-Jaworski conversations: Wash. Star, March
13, 1974; Dean shredded documents: W. Satire, N.Y. Times,
Feb. 7, 1974; Greider on reversed roles: Wash. Post, June 9,
1974; Warren-press episode: Wash. Star, Dec. 2, 1973; Von
Hoffman quoted: New Times, March 8, 1974; Cohn in News-
day: reprinted in Newsweek, June 4, 1973; E. McCarthy quot-
ed: Village Voice, Nov. 22, 1973; Dobrovir episode: Nick

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 459

Thimmesch, Baltimore Sun , July 11, 1974; Wash. Post, Dec.
20, 1973; Wash. Star quoted: Dec. 20, 1973; Schorr speech:
Bruce Herschensohn, The Gods of Antenna (New Rochelle,
N.Y.; Arlington House, 1976), p. 141.

CHAPTER 22

Rodino book episode: N.Y. Times, March 25, 1974; Doar
quoted: Arnold Forster and Benjamin R. Epstein, The New
Anti-Semitism (N.Y.: McGraw-Hill, 1974), p. 68; Jenner back-
ground: N.Y. Times, Jan. 25, 1974; Jenner on TV: N.Y. Times,
Jan. 16, 1974; Wash. Star, Jan. 15, 1974; Rodino labor contri-
butions: Wash. Post, Jan. 21, 1974; Judiciary members’ bias:
Time, Feb. 18, 1974; N.Y. Times Magazine, April 28, 1974;
Wash. Star, March 17, 1974; Schlesinger quoted: Wall Street
Journal, Feb. 28, 1974; Thimmesch on hysteria: Newsday,
Feb. 2, 1974; C. Morgan quoted: Wash. Post, Jan. 21, 1974;
Kempton and Viorst quoted: Thimmesch, op. cit .; Welch quot-
ed: Philadelphia Bulletin, Dec. 9, 1973; Newsweek, Dec. 16,
1974; Judiciary leaks: N.Y. Times, June 20, 1974; Wash. Star,
June 21, 1974; Weicker quoted: Thimmesch, Baltimore Sun,
July 4, 1975; Dixon memos: Chicago Tribune, June 19, 1974,
and Wash. Star, June 18, 1974; Nixon quoted: W. Safire, N.Y.
Times, May 2, 1974; Bartlett quoted: Wash. Star, May 25,
1974; Bridge quoted: National Observer, March 30, 1974; Luce
quoted: Time, April 8, 1974; Cox quoted: National Observer,
March 30, 1974; Ervin quoted: Wash. Star, March 11, 1974;
W. Safire, N.Y. Times, July 11, 1974; Haldeman quoted: N.Y.
Times , March 30, 1975; Buckley quoted: Wash. Star, July 26,
1973; Nixon quoted: Wash. Post, July 2, 1975; Haldeman
quoted: N.Y . Times, March 23, 1975; Nixon-Haldeman tran-
script: op. cit., p. 224; Nixon-Dean transcript: ibid., p. 62;
Haldeman quoted: ibid., p. 238; Nixon-Kleindienst transcript:
ibid., p. 726; National Review quoted: May 24, 1974; Tran-
scripts compared: Comparison of Passages from Transcripts of
Eight Recorded Presidential Conversations, Committee on the
Judiciary, House of Representatives, July 9, 1974, p. 104; Find-
ing Nash: Congressional Record, July 31, 1974, p. H-7453;
Nixon quoted: Wall Street Journal, July 17, 1974; Anderson
“assassination”: Wash. Post, Sept. 21, 1975; Supplementary
Detailed Staff Reports on Foreign and Military Intelligence,
Book IV, Final Report of the Select Committee to Study Gov-
ernmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities,
U. S. Senate, April 23, 1976, 94th Congress, 2nd Session, Re-
port No. 94-755, pp. 133-138; Woodward-Bemstein criticized:
Max Kampelman, “The Arrogance of the Press,” Washing tor i-
ian, October 1974; Lester Markel, N.Y. Times, June 15, 1974;

460

VICTOR LASKY

Nicholas von Hoffman, Wash. Post , March 5, 1976; Edward J.
Epstein, Commentary , July 1974; Roche quoted: Saturday Re -
view /World, July 13, 1974; Shanahan quoted: William Rusher,
Human Events , July 3, 1976; Hamill quoted: N.Y. Post , May
13, 1974; Cox quoted: N.Y. Times, June 12, 1974; Boston
Herald- American, June 12, 1974; McGovern funds: Nick
Thimmesch, Human Events, Oct. 12, 1974; Peretz quoted: Roll-
ing Stone, Dec. 19, 1974; McGovern letter: Thompson, op. cit.,
p. 200; Muskie and Lindsay irregularities: Thompson, op. cit.,
p. 197, and Final Report of the Select Committee on Presiden-
tial Campaign Activities, U.S. Senate, pursuant to S. Res. 60,
Feb. 7, 1973, 93rd Congress, 2nd Session, Report No. 93-981,
June 1974, pp. 558-563; Thompson on Jones: op. cit., p. 201;
LBJ-milk producers episode: N.Y. Times, May 8, 1974, Wash.
Post, March 27, 1974; N.Y. Times on LBJ-Gulf: Nov. 26,
1975; Wild-senators connections: W. Safire, N.Y. Times, June
21, 1976, N.Y. Times, Jan. 13, 1976, National Review, Feb.
6, 1976, and Wash. Post, March 20, 1976; Wild’s trial: Wash.
Post, July 27, 1976; Myers-Harris connection: N.Y. Times,
Nov. 26, 1975; Wash. Star, Nov. 20, 1975; ABC quoted: News-
week, Sept. 5, 1973; Thompson quoted on Rebozo: op. cit.,
pp. 184-194; Jaworski interview: Miami Herald, Jan. 9, 1975;
Humphrey-Hughes connection: Jack Anderson, Wash. Post,
Oct. 17, 1973, Time, April 19, 1976, N.Y. Times, April 6,
April 17, and May 18, 1974; Humphrey gifts: W. Safire, N.Y.
Times, March 11, 1976; C. Mollenhoff, Human Events, Jan. 31,
1976; Humphrey financial irregularities: N.Y. Times, Aug. 13,
1974, Chicago Tribune, Aug. 3, 1974, Wash. Post, May 28,
1974, and N.Y. Times Magazine, Sept. 1, 1974; Humphrey
quoted: N.Y. Times, June 27, 1974; Thompson on Mills: op.
cit., pp. 199-200; Mills quoted: Wash. Star, Oct. 12, 1974;
National Review quoted: June 7, 1974; Statute of limitations:
Wash. Post, June 8, 1976; Wall Street Journal, Sept. 17, 1976;
Strauss-Ashland connection: Wash. Post, Jan. 10, 1975; Stans
fined: Wash. Post, March 13, 1975.

CHAPTER 23

Von Hoffman quoted: Wash. Post, April 19, 1974; Kennedy
quoted: Baltimore Sun, March 9, 1974; Pierson quoted: Wall
Street Journal, Sept. 3, 1974; Rodino off-the-record: W. Safire,
N.Y. Times, July 11, 1974; Judiciary Committee partisanship:
Wash. Post, June 26, 1974; Greider in Wash. Post: July 27,
1974; Democrats on TV: Kay Gardella, N.Y. News, Aug. 1,
1974; Village Voice quoted: Aug. 1, 1974; Articles of Impeach-
ment: Congressional Record, Aug. 22, 1974, pp. H-8967-8968;
Wiggins-Sarbanes and Sandman-Sarbanes quoted: as reprinted

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

461

in J. Anthony Lukas, Nightmare (N.Y.: Viking, 1976), pp.
532-533; Peoria Journal-Star quoted: Congressional Record ,
Aug. 2, 1974, p. E-5238; Noyes quoted: Wash. Star , July 23,
1974; Conyers quoted: Wall Street Journal , Sept. 3, 1974; Ja-
worski quoted: Martin Agronsky’s Evening Edition, WETA-
TV, Washington, D.C.; Von Hoffman quoted: Wash. Post,
March 3, 1976; Geyelin quoted: Wash. Post , June 17, 1974;
Hunter Thompson quoted: Rolling Stone, Oct. 10, 1974; PBS
commentator quoted: Nick Thimmesch, Baltimore Sun, Nov.
5, 1974; N.Y. Times editorial: Oct. 20, 1975; Reporter quoted:
Tom Dowling, Wash. Star, Nov. 12, 1974; Haldeman article:
Wash. Star, June 20, 1976; St. Clair quoted: Wash. Post, Nov.
24, 1974; Haig-Haldeman quoted: Haldeman article, Wash.
Star, June 20, J976; Nixon meeting night of resignation an-
nouncement: Contemporaneous notes made by a Midwest
GOP Congressman, Wash. Star, Aug. 20, 1974.

INDEX

Agnew, Spiro T., 22, 234,
241-42, 402, 411-13
Albert, Carl, 307, 335
Alch, Gerald, 292-93
Allen, Richard V., 237-38
Allende, Salvador, 115, 116
Alsop, Joseph, 16, 80, 221-
22, 315-16
Alsop, Stewart, 296
America First Committee,
160, 162

American Civil Liberties
Union, 376, 400
Amory, Robert, Jr., 83
Anderson, Dewey, 75-76
Anderson, Jack, 76, 101,

244-46, 259, 262, 266-
67, 313, 389, 402
Andreas, Dwayne, 434-35
Angelone, Oliver W., 47, 49,
51, 54

Angleton, James, 28
Armstrong, O. K., 50-52
Armstrong, Scott, 342-43,
348

Arnett, Peter, 220
Ashbrook, John M., 334-35
Ashland Oil, Inc., 414
Assassination Report (Senate
Intelligence Committee),
113-16

Associated Milk Producers
Incorporated (AMPI),
404, 406, 408-10

Bacon, Donald, 66
Bailey, John, 76, 88, 198
Baker, Howard, 188, 267-74,
293, 327-28, 412, 413
Baker, Robert G. (Bobby),
20, 22-23, 124-25, 138,
141-55

Baldwin, Alfred, 289, 291
Baldwin, Hanson, 82-83, 85
Ball, George W., 106-7
Bali, Lucille, 352
Barclay, Edwin, 172-73
Barker, Bernard, 266, 291,
435, 436, 442
Barnes, C. Tracey, 187
Barnes, Harry Elmer, 165
Bartlett, Charles, 19, 379
Bay of Pigs invasion, 95-96,
97, 104, 105
Bayh, Birch, 151, 407
Beale, Betty, 86
Beard, Charles A., 165
Beard, Dita, 270-71, 391
Beaverbrook, Lord, 173-74
Beebe, Frederick S., 21n
Beichman, Arnold, 141
Belisle, David I., 128-30
Bellino, Carmine, 46-55, 66-
68, 340, 343, 398, 399
Bennett, Robert F., 270-72,
283, 285

Bennett, W. Tapley, 224, 225
Benson, George, 70
Benton, William, 165
Ben-Veniste, Richard, 361
Benz, Robert, 330

466 VICTOR LASKY

Bergen, Candice, 220
Berlin, Mike, 93
Berman, Ronald, 397 n
Bernstein, Carl, 330, 331,

343 m, 390-94
Berrigan brothers, 342
Bickel, Alexander, 363
Biddle, Francis, 167-68
Bishop, Jim, 87
Black, Fred B., Jr., 124-25
Black, Hugo, 134
Block, Paul, 174
Boggs, Hale, Jr., 227
Boggs, Hale, Sr., 227, 243
Boone, Richard, 352
Bosch, Juan, 224
Bowles, Chester, 96, 165
Braden, Tom, 273
Bradlee, Benjamin C., 20-
21, 22-24, 28, 32, 56,
68, 79, 81-83, 216-17,
248, 296, 393, 394-95
Bradlee, Mrs. Benjamin C.,
26

Bradlee, Tony, 27
Bradley, Tom 43
Bridge, John F., 379-80
Bridges, Harry, 44, 168
Brinkley, David, 220
Brock, William E., 413
Broder, David, 300, 318
Bronk, Detlev, 75
Brooks, Jack, 378
Brown, Edmund G. (Pat),
38, 198, 298
Brownell, Herbert, 254
Bruno, Jerry, 200
Buchanan, Patrick J., 332,
345-47, 377, 428, 445
Buckley, James, 347, 378
Buckley, William F., Jr., 78,
250, 256, 383

Bugging. See Wiretapping
and bugging

Bundy, McGeorge, 98, 109,
114, 199

Burch, Dean, 186, 207

Burns, James MacGregor, 38,
167-68, 171
Busch, August A., 210
Bush, George, 48, 49-50
Butler, R. A., 24
Butz, Earl, 173/1, 369
Buzhardt, Fred, 344
Byrd, Robert C., 151
Byrne, Brendan, 43

Calif ano, Joseph A., Jr., 15,
16, 99, 219, 229, 309
Callahan, Gerard M., 90-92
Cannon, Howard W., 151,
412

Cannon, Lou, 320
Capell, Frank A., 84
Caplin, Mortimer, 66, 67,
71-72

Carey, Hugh, 43
Cargo, David F., 234
Carpenter, Liz, 206
Carr, Francis, 250
Carter, Jimmy, 12, 307, 405
Case, Clifford, 356
Castle, William R., 160
Castro, Fidel, 17, 96-102,
113-14, 116
Cater, Douglas, 241
Caulfield, John J., 238, 277,
287

Ceausescu, Nicolae, 430
Central Intelligence Agency
(CIA), 46-47, 94-101,
104, 115, 187-89, 227-
31, 237-38, 267-74,

436-38, 440-444
Chambers, Whittaker, 296
Chapin, Dwight, 74/i, 200,
218, 328, 329, 330, 390-
91

Chappaquiddick, 29-30, 35,
187, 416

Chase, Stuart, 165
“Checkers” speech, 298

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 467

Chennault, Anna, 234-36
Cheshire, Maxine, 403
Chestnut, Jack, 404
Childs, Marquis, 35, 57, 80
Chomsky, Noam, 238
Chotiner, Murray, 349
Chou En-lai, 430
Christian Anti-Communist
Crusade, 69

Church, Frank, 94-95, 99,
115-17, 151

Churchill, Winston, 159,
160-61

Clark, Leo, 181-82, 186
Clark, Ramsey, 44, 223,

229-31, 236-37, 307,

373

Clawson, Ken, 420
Cleveland, Charlie, 246
Clifford, Clark, 142 n, 143-
46, 196, 206-7, 209,

250, 285

Cohen, Eugene J., 37
Cohen, Richard M., 326
Cohen, Sheldon, 148, 226
Cohn, Roy, 119, 123, 368-
69

Colby, William, 188
Cole, Wayne S., 163, 165
Collins, J. Lawton, 75
Collins, Thomas, 341
Colson, Charles, 112, 122,
192, 272, 276, 279-80,
304-6, 350, 351, 355,
389, 438, 441

Commager, Henry Steele,
192

Committee to Re-elect the
President (CRP), 264,
265, 272

Conein, Lucien, 109
Connally, John B., 38, 226,
326, 425-26, 428, 441
Connell, William, 236-37
Conyers, John, Jr., 378, 427
Cook, Fred, 77-78
Cooley, Harold, 83

Cooper, Chester L., 188
Corbett, Robert W., 333
Corbin, Paul, 35-36, 53
Corcoran, Tommy ‘The
Cork,” 176-77
Corwin, Edwin S., 165
Cox, Archibald, 360-64, 380-
81, 391, 397
Cox, Ed, 396
Crane, Philip M., 150-51
Criswell, John, 237
Cronkite, Walter, 332, 368
Crouse, Timothy, 298, 348
Cuban missile crisis, 92
Cubela, Rolando, 100-1
Curtis, Carl, 144, 207
Cushing, Richard Cardinal,
45

Dahlberg, Ken, 434-37
Daley, Richard, 56-57, 244
Dancey, C. L., 426
Daniels, Jonathan, 172-74
Dash, Samuel, 112, 341-43,
346, 348-49, 357
Davidson, Daniel I., 316
Davidson, T. Whitfield, 133-
34

Davis, Elmer, 172, 173
Davis, Sammy, Jr., 352
Dean, John, III, 42, 67, 129,
156, 157, 178, 276-82,
303, 312, 344-45, 352-
53, 355-57, 365-66,

378-79, 385, 389, 433-
36

DeBakey, Michael, 356
Deep Throat, 131, 256, 392
Delany, Kevin, 370
DeLoach, Cartha D.

(“Deke”), 154, 155, ISO-
84, 186, 193-95, 216,

217, 233-37, 239
Democratic National Conven-
tion: 1960, 41-44; 1964,

468 VICTOR LASKY

Dem. Nat. Convention ( Cont .)
180-89, 193-209; 1968,
242-44

Dennis, David W., 426 n
Dershowitz, Alan, 211
Diem, Ngo Dinh, 102, 104-
13

Dirksen, Everett M., 179
Dixon, William P., 378
Doar, John, 215, 230-32,

373-74, 387, 416-19,

426

Dobrovir, William, 369-70
Dodd, Thomas J., 140, 350
Donaldson, Sam, 419
Dorsen, Dave, 408
Doyle, James, 396
Drew, Elizabeth, 331
Drinan, Robert, 375, 378
Duffey, Joseph, 350
Dulles, Allen, 101, 442-43

Eagleton, Thomas F., 319,
338n

Early, Stephen, 173-74
Eastland, James, 214
Edminsten, Rufus L., 156-57
Edwards, India, 38-39
Ehrlichman, John, 67-68,
276, 277, 286, 305, 306,
308, 311-12, 357, 365,
386, 394, 412, 425,

434, 437, 439
Eichholtz, Robert, 249
Eilberg, Joshua, 422
Eisenhower, David, 447
Eisenhower, Dwight D., 59-
60, 61-63, 149, 208-9,
251, 303, 377; Adams
Sherman and, 388; as-
sassination of foreign
leaders, discussion of,
114-15; press and, 61-
62

Ellsberg, Daniel J., 40, 97,

119, 122, 131, 269, 276,
283, 295, 304-6, 308,
310-12, 337-38
Epstein, Benjamin R., 374
Epstein, Edward Jay, 390
Erlenbom, John, 375
Ernst, Morris, 174, 176
Ervin Sam, 13, 48, 52, 55,
68, 89, 150, 151, 156,
178, 181, 188, 233, 260,
274, 292-94, 327-28,

339-41, 343-44, 346,

347-49, 355, 362, 381,
400, 405, 406, 408-9
Estes, Billy Sol, 81, 86
Evans, Courtney, 155
Evans, Rowland, 148, 197,
273

Exner, Judith Campbell, 26,
57-58

Fairness doctrine, 73-74, 76
Fall, Bernard, 83
Farmer, James, 180, 181
Federal Bureau of Investiga-
tion (FBI), 125-26, 148,
156-58, 161-62, 168,

176, 178-87, 193-95,

212-20, 223-27, 435-38
Federal Communications
Commission (FCC), 72-
73, 77-78, 137
Feldman, Myer, 71-72, 197
Felknor, Bruce, 203
Felt, Mark, 355, 436
Fensterwald, Bernard, 54,
293-94

Fialka, John, 333
Fielding, Fred, 365
Fielding, Lewis J., 269-70,
311-12

Finch, Robert H., 65-66
Fish, Hamilton, 175-76
Fish, Hamilton, Jr., 282-83,
420-21

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 469

Fitzgerald, Desmond, 100
Flaherty, Joe, 79
Flax, Louis, 203-4
Fleeson, Doris, 246
Flowers, Walter, 421-22
Flug, James, 340, 360
Flynn, John T., 165, 170
Folliard, Edward T., 246
Folsom, Marion B., 75
Ford, Betty, 430
Ford, Gerald R., 9, 99, 210,
257, 307, 371, 375, 429,
430, 446-47
Forster, Arnold, 373-74
Fortas, Abe, 134, 135, 143-
46, 149, 152, 184, 196,
206-7, 285
Fowler, Henry, 71
Frank, John Joseph, 47, 49
Frank, Reuven, 243
Freedman, Monroe, 119
Friendly, Alfred, 249, 253,
256

Friendly, Fred W., 73-78
Friendly, Henry, 361
Fritchey, Clayton, 249, 250,
253-54, 255, 256
Froehlich, Harold, 421
Fulbright, J. William, 11,
105-6, 198, 199, 223

Gall, Norman, 103
Gallagher, Christine, 83
Gallup, George, 45
Gandhi, Indira, 313n
Garth, David, 42-43
Geismar, Maxwell, 198
Geller, Henry, 78
Geraty, Franklin R., 237-38
Getty, John Paul, 48, 68
Geyelin, Philip L., 428-29
Giancana, Sam ("Momo”),
25, 4 6n, 57-58, 96, 97,
116

Gilligan, Jack, 43

Gold, Victor, 189, 201
Goldfine, Bernard, 245-46
Goldman, Eric, 195-96
Gold water, Barry, 69, 152,
179, 186-91, 195-99,

203-5, 303, 353, 447
Goldwater, Barry, Jr., 353
Gonzalez, Virgilio, 267, 289-
90, 291

Goodell, Charles, 210
Goodman, Julian, 183n
Goodpaster, Andrew J., 115
Goodwin, Richard, 151
Gorey, Hays, 275
Graham, Fred, 369
Graham, Katherine, 218, 299,
309, 394-95
Graham, Philip, 249
Gray, Gordon, 115
Gray, L. Patrick, 366, 433,
435-36, 441-42, 443-44
Greenspun, Hank, 271, 285
Gregory, Tom, 271
Greider, William, 209, 232-
33, 366-67, 417, 421
Grenier, John, 204
Griegg, Stanley L., 262-63
Griswold, Erwin, 75
Gronouski, John, 198
Gulf Oil Corporation, 411-
13

Gurney, Edward J., 52, 239,
347

Haddad, William F., 259-66
Haig, Al, 362, 444
Halberstam, David, 85, 202
Haldeman, H. R. (Bob), 275,
277, 278-81, 305, 328-
29, 335, 341, 353, 357,
382-83, 384, 385, 386,
394, 408, 432-44
Hall, Leonard W., 61
Halperin, Morton, 258
Hamer, Fannie Lou, 180

470 VICTOR LASKY

Hamill, Pete, 397
Hamilton, John D. M., 175
Hand, Lloyd, 401-2
Hargis, Billy James, 69, 77,
78

Harker, Daniel, 100
Harriman, Averill, 107
Harrington, Michael J., 335
Harris, Fred, 413
Hart, Gary, 116, 332
Hartford, John, 170
Harvey, William K., 98
Hatfield, Mark, 410
Hays, Wayne, 35, 248, 413-
14

Heller, Michael, 327
Helms, Richard, 228, 269,
271, 273, 283, 437, 442
Hentoff, Nat, 121 157n, 339,
343-44

Hermann, Albert B. (“Ab”),
48,51, 53

Hersh, Seymour M., 228,

396-97

Higgins, Marguerite, 106
Hill, Elmer Dewey, 128-30
Hilsman, Roger, 106-8
Hiss, Alger, 296-97
Hobson, Julius, 182
Hochstein, Philip, 59
Hoffa, James, 33, 44, 48, 50,
51, 67, 118-24, 360-61
Hoffman, Nicholas von, 117,
127, 238-39, 368, 390,
416, 428

Hoffman, Paul, 203
Hogan, Frank S., 40
Hoover, J. Edgar, 19, 20-21,
26, 59, 88, 90, 96, 125,
151, 154, 167, 168, 179,
193, 206-8, 214-16, 217-
18, 219, 302, 307, 308,
311, 353-54

Hopkins, Harry, 173-74, 176
Houston, Lawrence, 97
Howard, Roy, 174
Hughes, Howard, 46, 270,

271, 283-86, 398, 401-2
Hughes, Paul, 250-56
Humphrey, Hubert H., 23,
31-35, 96, 198, 210,

235-37, 242-43, 317-

18, 323, 325, 326, 331,
335, 401-5, 410, 412,
413

Hunt, E. Howard, Jr., 68,
112, 187-89, 246, 266,
269-73, 279, 283, 285-
86, 288-89, 290, 311-
12, 365, 366, 389, 435,
437, 440, 441, 443
Hunt, H. L., 48, 68, 69
Huston, Paul, 419
Huston, Tom Charles, 353-
55

Huston Plan, 353-55
Hutchinson, Edward, 426/1

Ickes, Harold, 175
Inouye, Daniel K., 52, 150,
412

Internal Revenue Service
(IRS), 9, 47, 65-68,
70-72, 146, 148, 153,
351-52, 356-57, 404
Irving, Clifford, 271, 285
ITT case, 209, 210, 358-59,
364, 391

J.F.K.: The Man and the
Myth (Lasky), 65, 87
Jackson, Henry, 307, 323,
331, 335, 412, 413
Jacobson, Max, 24
Jacquet-Francillon, Jacques,
425

Janos, Leo, 101
Japanese- Americans, 166-68
Javits, Jacob, 356
Jaworski, Leon, 364-65, 366,

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 471

391, 400-1, 404, 427

Jenkins, Walter, 143-44, 150,

193- 95, 205-8, 225

Jenner, Albert E., Jr., 374,

419

Jessup, Philip C., 165

John Birch Society, 69, 377

Johnson, Lady Bird, 153,
156, 421, 426/1

Johnson, Lyndon B., 76; an-
tiwar movement and,
228-31; Baker, Bobby
and, 141-55; big busi-
ness and, 209-10; cam-
paign financing, 409-11;
Chile and, 115-16; CIA,
misuse of, 227-29;
Democratic Convention
(1964), 180-89, 193-

209, 236; Dominican

Republic crisis, 224-25;
FBI, misuse of, 178—
85, 213-17, 223-27; IRS
and, 146; Jenkins af-
fair, 193-95, 205-9, 225;
Kennedy, John and,
136, 138-39, 140-42;

Kennedy, Robert and,
126, 140, 148, 151-52,
155, 180, 182; Kennedy
assassination and, 101-2,
226; King, surveillance
of, 212-16; military spy-
ing, 233; Moyers and,

194- 96; presidential

campaign (1960), 38-

39, 41, 58-59; presiden-
tial campaign (1964),
180-89, 193-209, 236-
37; presidential campaign
(1968), 233-35, 237-39;
as Senate Majority Lead-
er, 222-23; senatorial
campaign (1948), 132-
36; as Vice President,
136; Vietnam and, 104-
5, 108, 199-200; wealth

of, 136-39; wiretapping,
126, 180-81, 212-13,

233-35; women, rela-
tionships with, 220
Johnson, Robert H., 114-15
Jones, Edward Murray, 47,
48-54

Jones, James R., 234, 408-9
Jones, Jesse, 170
Jones, William B., 370
Jordan, Barbara, 462/1
Jordan, Everett, 152

Kastenmeier, Robert W., 378
Katzenbach, Nicholas D.,
84, 102, 208, 215-18
Kearns, Doris, 220
Keating, Kenneth, 88, 92-
93, 98

Kelley, Susie, 310
Kelly, Martin, 330
Kempster, Norman, 367-68
Kempton, Murray, 191, 307,
376

Kennedy, Edward M., 48,
100, 117, 340, 360, 363,
364, 407; Chappaquid-
dick, 29-30, 35, 416
Kennedy, Ethel, 360
Kennedy, Jackie, 15, 421
Kennedy, John F.: assassina-
tion of, 100-2, 226-27;
assassination of foreign
leaders, discussion of,
17-18, 94-104, 106-12,
113-14; Baker, Bobby
and, 22-23; Bay of Pigs
invasion, 95-96, 97, 104,
105; Chile and, 115; Cu-
ban missile crisis, 92;
Diem and, 104, 106-

12; fairness doctrine and,
73-74; health, 37-39;
Hoffa and, 118; Hoover
and, 20-21; IRS and,

472 VICTOR LASKY

John F. Kennedy (Cont.)

9, 47, 66-68, 70-72;

Johnson, L. B. and, 136,
138-39, 140-42; Ka-

tanga secession issue,
84-85; Mafia, link to,
25-26, 57-58, 116-17;
presidential campaign
(1960), 31-39, 41-49,
53-54, 56-64; press and,
21-22, 24-25, 79-83, 85-
88, 296; private language
of, 21-23, 79; Rockefel-
ler and, 23; steel crisis
(1962), 79, 82, 86; Tru-
jillo and, 102-3; Viet-
nam and, 104-11; in
wartime, 23, 31; wire-
tapping, 9, 81-85, 92;
women, relationships
with, 15, 25-29
Kennedy, Joseph P., 34, 58,
66, 158-60, 165-66
Kennedy, Robert F.: assassi-
nation of foreign lead-
ers, discussion of, 94-
102; Cohn and, 123;
Hoff a and, 118-24; IRS
and, 71, 72; Johnson,
L. B. and, 126, 140, 148,
151-52, 155, 180, 182;
King, surveillance of,
211, 213, 215-16; Mon-
roe and, 28-29; Otepka
case, 127-31; presiden-
tial campaign (1960),
31-39, 43, 45, 47, 53,
54; press and, 86-88, 90;
wiretapping, 19-20, 82,
83-84, 90-93, 123-30
Kerner, Otto, 228
Kessler, Ronald, 181
Kilpatrick, James J., 233, 379
King, Coretta, 212
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 19,
126, 127, 155, 180-82,
198, 211-18, 373, 390

Kishi, Nobusuke, 430
Kissinger, Henry, 256-58,
301-6, 309-10, 313-16,
429, 430, 446
Kitt, Eartha, 227-28
Kleindienst, Richard, 364,
386

Knebel, Fletcher, 37-38, 81
Knight, John S., 191
Kohlmeier, Louis, 137
Kopechne, Mary Jo, 29-30
Kopkind, Andrew, 307
Kraft, Joseph, 220, 316
Krock, Arthur, 23, 159, 169,
300

Krogh, Egil M. (“Bud”), Jr.,
268, 277, 283, 308-9,
311-13, 345
Kurland, Philip, 171-72

Lambert, Arthur G., 53
Lambert, William, 138
Landgrebe, Earl R., 334-35
Lansdale, Edward G., 97-98
Larson, Arthur, 75, 76
Latta, Del, 424, 426 n
Lawford, Peter, 29
Lawrence, William, 37
Lehman, Herbert, 164
Lenzner, Terry, 342, 344-45,
346, 348

Leon, John W., 47-49, 50,
51, 53-54
Lemer, Max, 86
Levi, Edward E, 193
Lewis, Jerry, 352
Lewis, John L., 165
Liddy, G. Gordon, 113, 246,
261, 269, 271, 275, 277-
83, 287-90, 311-12,

349, 435, 437
Liebengood, Howard, 261
Lincoln, Evelyn, 142
Lindbergh, Charles A., 162-
66

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE

473

Lindsay, John, 43, 320-21,
408

Lippmann, Walter, 80, 166-
67, 185

Lisagor, Peter, 220
Lockyer, William, 321
Lodge, Henry Cabot, 106-11
Loeb, John, 404
Loeb, William, 322
Long, Edward V., 123
Long, Russell B., 357, 412
Lott, Trent, 426h
Lowi, Theodore J., 344
Luce, Clare Boothe, 380
Luce, Henry, 159
Ludwig, Daniel, 68
Lumumba, Patrice, 114-15
Lungren, John, 39-40, 328

McBride, Thomas F., 361
McCarthy, Abigail, 222-23
McCarthy, Eugene, 126, 127,
369

McCarthy, Joseph R., 249-
56, 339

McCarthy, Mrs. Joseph R.,
251

McClellan, John, 118
McClellan Committee, 118,
120, 123-24

McClory, Robert, 374, 417
McCloskey, Matthew, 152
McCone, John A., 98, 115
McCord, James W., Jr., 261,
265, 268, 273, 287-94,
379, 391

McCord, Mrs. James W., Jr.,
293

McCormack, Edward J., Jr.,
23

McCune, Wesley, 74, 77
McGee, Gale, 244, 410
McGill, Ralph, 75, 215
McGovern, George, 39, 151,
317-26, 330-34, 335-

36, 337, 341, 342, 347,
407-8

McGrory, Mary, 95, 339, 341
McHugh, Godfrey, 86
Mclnemey, James M., 53
McIntyre, Marvin, 172
Macmillan, Harold, 24
McNamara, Robert S., 98,
114, 233, 305, 426 n
Madigan, Mike, 261
Maginnes, Nancy, 310
Magruder, Jeb Stuart, 275,
278-83, 286, 290, 379,
434

Maguire, Richard, 76
Maheu, Robert A., 46, 270,
284, 285, 286, 401-3
Mailer, Norman, 28, 29n
Malloy, Bernard, 310
Mankiewicz, Frank, 17-19,
99-100, 319-21, 323-27,
332

Mann, James, 419
Mansfield, Mike, 151, 269,
340

Mara, Cornelius, 250, 254,
255

Maraziti, Joseph, 426n
Marder, Murray, 255
Mardian, Robert, 303-4
Markel, Lester, 390
Marley, William O., 374
Marshall, Burke, 216, 217
Marshall, Thurgood, 125
Martin, Yancey, 324
Martinez, Eugenio, 272, 273,
289-91

Marx, Louis, 308
Maxwell, Don, 61
Mayflower Case, 47-54
Mayne, Wiley, 420, 426/1
Mazo, Earl, 60-61, 86-87
Meany, George, 198, 332
Media, 10, 21-22, 62, 79-
83, 85-87, 90, 171, 241-
49, 296-301, 340-41,

359, 366-68, 370-71,

474 VICTOR LASKY .

Media (Cont.)

379-81, 389-97, 424-25
Mehren, George L., 409-10
Merrill, William H., 361
Meskil, Paul S., 91
Meyer, Cord, Jr., 26
Meyer, Mary Pinchot, 26-28
Meyner, Robert B., 75
Mezvinsky, Ed, 417, 421
Miller, Herbert J., 155
Mills, Wilbur, 357, 405-6,
410, 412, 414

Minh, Duong Van, 109, 1 10—
11

Minnesota Mining and Man-
ufacturing Company,
410

Minow, Newton, 80
Mitchell, John, 261, 277-
80, 387, 434-38
Mitchell, Martha, 289
Mohr, Charles, 201
Mollenhoff, Clark, 130, 147
Mondale, Walter F., 410
Monroe, Marilyn, 28-29, 84,
118

Montoya, Joseph M., 412
Moore, Richard, 344-45
Moore, William, 218
Moorhead, William S., 426 n
Morgan, Charles, Jr., 376
Mosbacher, Emil, 439
Moyers, Bill, 192-96, 213-
14, 216-17, 220-22
Mullen, Bob, 283
Murphy, Charles J., 115
Murtagh, Arthur, 212
Muskie, Edmund, 151, 318,
321-23, 363, 408
Myers, Frederick A., 412-13

Naughton, James, 191
Navasky, Victor, 119-20, 123
Neal, James, 275, 360-61

Nelson, Jack, 419
Neuberger, Maurine, 71
New Left, 306-7, 308, 354
Newfield, Jack, 43
Nhu, Madame, 106-10
Nhu, Ngo Dinh, 106, 107,
110

Niles, David, 174-75
Nixon, Donald, 398
Nixon, Pat, 447
Nixon, Richard M.: Chile

and, 115; cover up, 344-
45, 384-85, 433-44; Cox
firing, 362-64; on Diem
overthrow, 111-12; en-
emy lists, 356-57; for-
eign policy, 313, 428-29;
gubernatorial campaign
(1962), 202-3; Huston
Plan, 354-55; IRS and,

9, 65-67, 68; impeach-

ment inquiry, 354, 368,
369, 371, 373-81, 386-
89, 416-27; Kissinger

on, 256-57; medical re-
cord, 39; pardon of, 9,
429; presidential cam-
paign (1960), 44-46,

47-50, 51-52, 56-64;

presidential campaign
(1968), 233-35; presi-
dential campaign (1972),
39, 337-38; press and,

10, 21, 296-301, 368,
394-97, 425; report of
special prosecutor and,
430-31; resignation of,

427, 446-48; tapes, 15,

21, 355, 362, 364, 378-
79, 383-89, 427-28, 431-
33, 435-45; Vietnam

and, 359-60, 426-21,

428, 430; Watergate
break-in, 275-82, 384-
85, 433-34; wiretapping,
19-20, 84

Nobile, Phillip, 21n

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 475

Norman, Lloyd, 83
Novak, Robert, 148, 197,

273, 319

November Group, 261, 265-
66

Noyes, Crosby S., 337-38,
427

Nunn, Sam, 412

Oberdorfer, Don, 21n
O’Brien, Lawrence F., 260,
262-63, 264, 265, 267,
281, 283-84, 286
O’Conner, Moira, 201
Odle, Rob, 393

O’Donnell, Kenneth P., 74,
80

O’Leary, Jeremiah, 98
Oliver, R. Spencer, Jr., 286
Oliver, Robert, 286
Olson, Culbert L., 166
O’Neill, Thomas P., 412
Operation Mongoose, 98-99
Osborne, John, 99-100, 319,
333-34, 396 n

Oswald, Lee Harvey, 101-2,
226

Otepka, Otto F., 127-31
Ottinger, Richard, 43

Pakistan, 313
Parr, George B., 132-36
Partin, Edward Grady, 121-
22

Passman, Otto E., 335
Patman, Wright, 170, 245-46
Patterson, Eleanor (“Cissy”),
176

Patterson, Eugene, 214-15
Patton, Thomas F., 82
Peale, Norman Vincent, 52
Pearson, Drew, 33, 126, 147,
149, 244, 245

Pegler, Westbrook, 167, 395
Pendergast, Tom, 135
Pennington, Lee R., Jr., 268-
69

Pentagon Papers, 106, 269,
304-6, 308, 337
Peretz, Martin, 407
Phillips, Cabell, 147, 246-47
Phillips, Wayne, 74, 77, 204
Pierce, Neal R., 59
Pierson, John, 417-18, 419
Plumbers unit, 268, 270-72,
307-15

Pogue, Welch, 173
Porter, Herbert (“Bart”),
282, 366
Porter, Paul, 249
Powers, David, 24
Presidential campaign: 1960,
31-39, 41-49, 53-54,

58-59; 1964, 179-89,

193-209, 236; 1968,

233-36, 237-38; 1972,

39, 317-36, 337-38
Proxmire, William, 410

Quayle, Oliver, 208
Quinn, Sally, 220

Rauh, Joseph L., Jr., 134,
184, 249-56, 338
Rayburn, Sam, 176
Reagan, Ronald, 352
Rebozo, Bebe, 398-401, 431
Reedy, George, 149, 207
Reilly, John F., 128-30
Reston, James, 198, 331, 421
Reuther, Victor, 69-70, 72-
73

Reynolds, Don B., 143-45,
146-48, 150, 152, 179
Richardson, Elliot, 360, 362
Robinson, Jackie, 34

476 VICTOR LASKY

Roche, John P., 34, 187, 393
Rockefeller, Laurence, 77 n
Rockefeller, Nelson, 10, 23,
89, 99, 229

Rockefeller Commission, 19,
94, 97, 98, 229-31
Rodino, Peter, 371-75, 417,
419-21

Rogers, William, 383
Rogers, William P., 44
Rogovin, Mitchell, 70-72
Roosevelt, Eleanor, 157, 160
Roosevelt, Elliott, 169
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano:
anti-Semitic slurs, 164;
civil liberties and, 166-
68; FBI, misuse of, 156—
58, 161-62, 168-69,

176; Kennedy, Joseph
and, 158-60; Lindbergh
and, 162-63, 165-66;

press and, 171; private
language, 172-73; Su-
preme Court and, 169;
wiretapping, 165, 168
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano,
Jr., 31-32

Roosevelt, James, 169
Roosevelt, John, 168
Roper, Elmo, 36, 45
Roselli, John, 25-26, 46 n,
96, 116

Rosenbaum, Ron, 27 n, 284,
335-36

Roth, Enid, 244-45
Rowan, Carl T., 84-85, 219
Royster, Vermont, 16, 352
Ruckelshaus, William, 157/*,
362

Rumsfeld, Donald, 342
Rusk, Dean, 18, 98, 107,
108, 130, 228-29, 307,
426/x

Russell, Louis, 292, 293
Ruth, Henry S., Jr., 414/1,
431

Safire, William, 17-18, 80/i,
116-17, 217, 239, 346/1,
366, 374, 379, 383, 420
St. Clair, James, 381, 382,
417, 444

Salinger, Pierre, 21, 26, 80-
81, 117, 124, 318
Sandman, Charles, 418, 421,
424-25, 426/1
Sarbanes, Paul S., 423
Saxbe, William B., 364-65
Sayre, Francis B., Jr., 204-5
Schlesinger, Arthur, Jr., 15,
16, 18-19, 26, 81, 105,
171, 372-73, 375-76,

383

Schlesinger, James, 292
Schorr, Daniel, 88, 189-90,
341, 348, 370-71, 394,
445-46

Scott, Hugh, 364, 412
Searls, David, 411
Sedam, J. Glenn, 393
Segretti, Donald H., 23, 36,
74/i, 200, 202, 319, 323,
328-31, 334, 335, 340,
390-92, 408

Senate Watergate Committee,
156-57, 178, 181, 274,
327-28, 339-52, 357-

59, 397-401, 405, 407,
408-9,410-11,412
Shannon, William V., 103,
354-55

Sheridan, Walter, 119-21,
326

Sherman, Norman, 404
Shimon, Joseph, 47, 49-50
Shriver, R. Sargent, 152, 337
Shultz, George P., 356
Sidey, Hugh, 87, 257
Sirica, John, 265, 338-39,
364, 365, 391, 393-94,
396

Six Crises (Nixon), 297,
440, 442/1
Skolsky, Sidney, 28

IT DIDN’T START WITH WATERGATE 477

Slatzer, Robert F., 29, 118
Smathers, George, 17, 99,

114

Smith, Howard K., 101, 299
Sorensen, Theodore, 26, 36,
61-62, 64, 81
Stahl, Lesley, 349, 445
Stans, Maurice H., 415, 434-
35, 436

Stanton, Frank, 36
Steel crisis (1962), 79, 82,
86

Stennis, John, 362
Stephenson, Sir William, 161
Stevenson, Adlai E., 41-43,
246-47, 297

Stevenson, Adlai E., 3rd, 43,
374

Stevenson, Coke, 132-35
Stewart, John, 260-64
Stimson, Henry L., 166
Strachan, Gordon, 280-81,
328, 329

Strauss, Robert, 414-15, 42 6n
Sturgis, Frank, 266-67, 289,
291

Sullivan, William C., 156-58,
161-62, 178, 179-80,

212, 223-24, 239
Supreme Court, 169
Symington, Stuart, 41, 142 /j,
274

Talmadge, Herman, 52, 150,
347

Taugher, Fred, 327
Taylor, Maxwell D., Ill
Thieu, Nguyen Van, 110-11
Thimmesch, Nick, 196, 314-
15, 350, 353

Thomas, Norman, 164-65,
166

Thomasson, Dan, 116, 225
Thompson, Fred, 188, 239,
259, 262, 264, 266, 267,

273, 342, 344-45, 349,
398-400, 406-9
Thompson, Hunter S., 325,
429

Timmons, Bill, 393
Tolson, Clyde, 225
Tower, John, 235
Travell, Janet G., 37
Trohan, Walter, 124, 164,

221

Troy, Matthew, Jr., 320
Truitt, Ann, 27
Truitt, James, 27-28
Trujillo, Rafael, 102-3, 110
Truman, Harry S, 134-35;
anti-Semitic slurs, 164/i;
wiretapping, 176-77
Tshombe, Moise, 84
Tuck, Dick, 200-3, 319-21,
324-25, 328-32, 390,

429, 430

Tyler, Carole, 153

Ulasewicz, Anthony, 34-35

Valenti, Jack, 227
Van Dyk, Ted, 321-22, 326
Vaughan, Harry, 176-77
Vietnam War, 104-11, 199-
200, 359-60, 420-21,

428, 430

Waldie, Jerome R., 9, 10, 375
Wallace, Henry A., 164 n,

174-75

Wallis, W. Allen, 13, 295
Walters, Vernon, 437, 441
Warren, Earl, 122, 166, 377/1
Warren, Gerald, 364, 367
Warren Commission, 101-2,
226-27

478 VICTOR LASKY

Watergate break-in, 12-13,
259-68, 271, 272, 275-
82, 286-87, 288-92,

295-96, 384-85, 433-34,
435-36

Watergate Seven, trial of,
338-39

Watson, Marvin, 154-55,
200, 221, 223, 237
Wechsler, James, 89-90, 249
Weicker, Lowell, 239, 274,
290, 291, 328, 347, 348-
52, 357, 377-78, 412
Welander, Robert O., 3 14
Welles, Sumner, 156
Wheeler, Richard, 247-48
White, Theodore H., 31, 42,
57, 196, 235, 242, 299,
317

Wicker, Tom, 59, 183, 186,
301

Wiggins, Charles E., 374,

418, 423, 426n

Wild, Claude C., Jr., 411-13
Williams, Edward Bennett,
272, 309, 381-82, 393
Williams, John J., 145-46,
148-49, 152-54
Willkie, Wendell, 159, 174-
75

Wilson, Bob, 87
Wilson, Earl, 25, 28, 29
Wilson, Richard, 22, 343 n t
359, 429

Wills, Frank, 290
Winchell, Walter, 87, 176
Winter, Ben, 260, 261, 264
Wiretapping and bugging, 9,
19-20, 46-55, 82-85,

90-92, 124-30, 165, 168,
176-77, 180-82, 212-13,
233-35, 245-46
Wise, David, 36, 80
Woods, Rose Mary, 238, 367
Woodward, Bob, 272, 330,
331, 342-43, 389-94
Woolston-Smith, A. J., 259-
66

Ydigoras Fuentes, Miguel,
104

Young, David R., Jr., 268,
308-10, 313-14

Ziegler, Ron, 276, 440

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